All in Tangles
by carotidclavicle
Summary: Odette, prima ballerina and Merante, brilliant Ballet Master, knew each other long before Felicie came into the picture. Along their memory lane, Merante suggests home-grown Odette that they go to Russia for the summer to see what he's been up to while being a decade apart. When Odette agrees, she discovers that the Ballet Master has events not written in his letters.
1. Chapter 1

**All in Tangles  
A Odette-Merante Back-Story**

" _She was the best of her generation. And then a fire happened." He was looking at the woman whose heart ran towards becoming a prima ballerina then looked down at the little girl who was living that dream as well. He sighed and walked away from his first love together with the flashbacks of fire, anger, and panic. He thought he lost her but as the days drove by from that moment, he slowly did._

Merante

It was 1848 in Paris, France. They hadn't started with the Eiffel Tower, they were just planning a beautiful tower not knowing it would soon be the heart of all attractions in Paris. While everyone gazed and awed at the soon-to-be tower, my eyes were towards this beautiful soon-to-be prima ballerina. Her name is Odette.

Odette

Paris, December 1848. It is the month of the Nutcracker performance. And auditions were up to be Clara in the Nutcracker. I. am. Very. Excited. Other than that, there is this very reserved boy around my age who just joined the theatre. His name is Merante. After lessons, I would always head straight home and catch up with the week's lessons, and if I'm up for it (which is almost, always never), next week's lessons. But this day was particularly different because the reserved boy comes up to me and asks me the strangest favor.

"I would like to teach you ballet."

I thought I misheard him the first time until I asked again and he said the same sentence.

"But I already know ballet, I'm auditioning for-"

"The Nutcracker, I know. But I would like to… mentor you."

"Merante. Merante? Was it?" He nods. "I'm sorry. I have to turn down this offer, well because you're my age, no offense, how could you possibly know how to mentor or what techniques could you teach me?"

"I've got some executions I would like you to try."

Not so reserved after all. "Oh-kay? Still no. I'm sorry, Merante. Maybe someone else is more suitable for your executions than me. Maybe Lora. She's good."

"Please think about it, Odette."

Merante

 _Growing up with her was as beautiful as watching her dance. She was raw, full of emotion, full of life. The world was her theatre and it is a privilege to see the show._

Odette

Even at school he was reserved, we currently have a couple of classes together and he would either be the first to arrive or the last, sometimes he would be so late that 20mins into the class he wouldn't be at his seat but the next time you turn around he'd be there. He'd always be the first to leave though.

"Why do you always look at the kid at the corner?" Lora asks.

"He asked something funny the other day."

"He wants to have milkshake with you?"

"No. He wants to be my mentor."

"I am getting some dirty old man presence from his past life. Ask if he has a scar somewhere down under."

"LORA."

"Just narrowing the answers for you."

"Anyway, where's Maurice? She said she brought her mom's baguette and jam for us."

Next period, Lora and Maurice are together and this is the other class I've got with Merante. Biology. I think we've got frogs up today. Dissection or something.

"Pair up." What? I almost didn't understand the professor. I thought this would be done by group and apparently, my groupmates are paired up and I was hoping of a familiar face but Merante wasn't around, so I got with paired with Nica. We would be dissecting for the digestive system since a moving type of exam would be expected next week.

I was just about to sedate the frog when Merante comes up and pulls Nica. I give up my _best_ puzzled look hoping that he would understand that it's like he's grown another nose on his forehead. He actually talks her into pairing with Richard. And he's stuck with me.

"We're doing Digestive System today." Sounding as natural and unfazed as I could.

"She likes Richard, I did her a favor."

"Okay. Would you get the dissecting kit?"

"How's your audition coming up?"

Ah. Ballet. The one thing that almost won't shut me up. "I would love to talk to you about my routine but seeing that you have another idea, I'd rather not."

"You think I'm gonna compete for your spot at the Nutcracker?" Which actually made me laugh.

"No. Your mentoring thing. Scalpel, please." He hands me the scalpel with the blade pointing away.

"Ah, well mademoiselle, I dropped it. For now. I did some research, for you to be a mentor you have to be a ballet master, a premier danseur. I'm currently just an extra."

"It would take decades." I tell him as I cut through the skin of the sedated frog.

He reaches out to tuck in the hair behind my ear. "Then would you be my muse?" I look at him in his eyes this time. "Wow. It's like asking me to marry you, which is a bit weird."

"Marriage is not a requirement. Just saying. I like how you dance on stage. Ballet, if it's a verb, I like how you ballet. Okay, I made it more awkward and it made me look like a stalker. Which is not supposed to happen."

"You want to trace the intestines?"

"I'll sedate the frog some more first."

"So cruel, Merante."

When we think we are confident enough to pass next week's exam, we pack up in time before the bell rings. And when it does, he's out the door like always. Nica comes up to me looking slightly embarrassed. I save her from the misery and tells her it is okay and that Merante is a familiar face.

Practice. The one thing Merante is always on time for, if not on time, earlier. I see Lora and Maurice warming up, doing stretched. "How was Biology with Merante?" Lora smirks at me.

"It was okay."

"No mentoring?"

"He actually dropped it because his goal now is to become premier danseur so, it's over."

"He doesn't look like the straightforward guy. He'd be dropping hints that he likes you and he would think you'd find out but you'd still be clueless."

"He doesn't like me."

"Right, obsessed."

"LORA."

"Just saying. Oh, your laces are still undone, Odette."

Merante

 _Ask anyone from our batch of ballet dancers, I adored her. She was walking art to me, all the more when she danced—a masterpiece. She made walking on clouds look so easy. It wasn't obsession, I had no plans of owning her, no plans of marrying her, I wanted her to continue dancing, and I wanted everyone to be in her theatre. She was my "heart of Paris" not the Eiffel Tower._

Odette

HE KNELT DOWN.

AND TIED MY LACES.

"WHOA SO FAST. IT'S JUST CHAPTER ONE." Maurice exclaims.

"I can tie my laces, Merante." I could feel my cheeks on fire. He looks up at me and back at the laces. "It's fine, I could help. I just did Regine's."

Oh. Okay. As he stands up, bows, and says the most ridiculous good-bye, "Mademoiselle." And exits the stage.

"I like you guys together." Maurice blurts out.

"Sorry, sweetie, not happening." I tell her.

"You may wish you would." Lora smirks again.


	2. Chapter 2

Odette

Merante has been around the theatre quite longer than we thought, the reason why we don't always see him is because he has his own private room and a private tutor. Only one entrance and one exit. He doesn't mingle with us either, we don't see him around the break room. I don't even remember catching glimpses of him during our performances, or past acts.

"So, Merante. How does it feel like to be a thorn among the roses?"

I sharply look at Lora, _what?_

"I could say I've been wondering deeply on my sexuality but I'm okay. It's a first."

"Is it true that you had your own private room in the theatre?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I think we've done enough being curious don't you think, Lora?" I subtly beg her to stop the questioning.

"It's fine, Odette."

"Is it also true that you have a private tutor?"

"Yes. _Had._ "

"What happened?"

"He left for an unfortunate matter." _I'm going to scold Lora so much for this._

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, he's still around."

"CHILDREN. CHILDREN." Before positioning to the bar, there is that eye contact again. When we do position to the bar, Merante goes to the Ballet Master and stands _beside_ him. Isn't he supposed to be at the bar with us? Maybe he doesn't dance well. Maybe that's why he's had a private tutor? "As you all might have recognized for the past week, there is a new member in the class. Merante. He's been a student of Lucien Petipa, who had to leave the opera for a very important matter. Young Merante is our first male soloist." _WHAT._ The girls in the room gasped. _He must be that good._ "You wouldn't recognize him in our acts because he doesn't prefer the attention, he would always look differently." _So, that's why._ "Nevertheless, this year, he will be performing Fritz, Clara's brother in the Nutcracker." Ballet Master looks at Merante, "And _he won't_ be looking differently."

"Just so you know-" He walks up to me after practice. "I really didn't want to be noticed, I want to be the guy, the Ballet Master, who would have everyone wondering ' _But aren't you supposed to be a premier danseur for a couple of decades before you become a Ballet Master?'_ Or ' _You're a Ballet Master? How come I haven't seen any of your plays? What were your performances?'_ Something like those."

"The mysterious ballet master, that's a good nickname for you." I change to my flats and he sits on the floor with me.

"Regine's hosting a ball at her place. I was hoping we could go together."

"I hate to break it to you, but I don't do events. Not really my thing. And _Regine_? C'mon, we're in competition for the part of Clara, she'd want that role. I want it to. It could be my big break in the opera. And then a step closer to being Prima Ballerina."

" _Regine?_ She's harmless."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Maurice joins the conversation in her ready-to-go-home outfit. "They're, like, rivals."

" _Rivals?_ "

"Clueless young soloist." Maurice pats him at the back. "You'll find out."

"I would like to walk you home, Odette."

"YOU CAN HAVE HER. Let's go, Lora." Before I could catch up to my "best friends", I catch Merante instead holding out his hand to help me up.

It's funny how I notice everything on the way home. I was already anticipating Merante to say something about his mentoring thing but he never mentioned it. I don't want to bring it up either because he might ask if I'm reconsidering.

"There is nothing going on right?" I ask him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you walking me home, asking me to the ball. Nothing, right?"

"Oh, sure thing. Nothing. It's not like obsession or anything. Maybe it's just instinct since I'm a little bit comfortable with you than the others. I could hang out with Lora and the other girl-"

"Maurice."

"Yes, Maurice, thank you. Regine is okay too, she doesn't know about my ambition to be Ballet Master, I don't she has any idea, but she is dropping hints that she and I would want to be partners in the Nutcracker for the future presentations. She the Plum Fairy and I the Prince."

"Have you given it some thought?"

"I love how she's precise and her performances are textbook, she's strong. Wow. But, I just don't like how she _performs_. Do you get it?"

"Not really."

"Hmm… You know why I want to mentor you?"

"You're a creepy obsessed soloist who wants to be a Ballet Master?"

"I'll take the creepy. It's because there is life when you dance. It's beautiful. You're beautiful."

Merante

 _That moment. December 1848. I never thought I would be as dedicated to becoming Ballet Master as being dedicated to her. Odette. Not a day goes by without regret, how I took your passion away, how I took what you loved most that spent your whole youth. My dear Odette, what can I do?_


	3. Chapter 3

Odette

The reserved boy who I assumed would be the theatre's wallflower ended up to be older, strong-willed, spontaneous, and very…

"Her posture is terrible." Straightforward.

"She can't be in the play." Rude.

"Her feet don't meet." Yup.

"Gosh, he's such a critic. Who hired him? Isn't he supposed to be dancing with us?" Lora whispers to me as we begin stretching. Maurice, by the corner doing leg works, tries to avoiding his criticisms. "He never comments on Odette."

"You're his apple." Lora rolls her eyes.

"Try doing something that is not so you. Make a mistake."

"Idiot Maurice, that's giving Regine the advantage."

"She does have a crush on Merante. She invited him to her Ball." I added. "Maybe she would do some mistakes too, to get his attention."

"Try it."

And I am willed to do so.

"CHILDREN. CHILDREN. Let us begin!"

You know how you've practiced and practiced and perfected a routine for a good amount of time and then it's just hard to purposely commit an error? That's how it feels. It's like spelling your name and jumbling it on purpose. You can't. It's like making a tree grow the wrong way—like making it grow towards the center of the Earth. You just can't. But I try—I don't dare try on the basics. But there is this routine I have recently perfected and I have received a fair share amount of compliments from the group, Ballet Master and Merante included, and I have done it quite a few on command—perfection. But this time, I _don't_.

I bend my leg on purpose on a routine wherein it was supposed to be kept straight the entire time. I notice Merante squint his eyes a little. _But he doesn't say anything._ I know I saw him squint. He _never_ misses an error.

"Odette." _Shit. It worked_. I look at Maurice and Lora and they give me the thumbs up. "You okay?"

 _OH SHIT._ "You need a break, darling?"

 _HOLY SHIT!_

" _Darling_?! Are you flirting with her?" That was Regine.

"Excuse me?"

"CHILDREN. CHILDREN-"

"She purposely did that to get your attention. I cannot believe you're biting it."

"REGINE. That is enough. You are about to buy a one-way ticket out of the auditions." That was the Ballet Master.

"I ship you." Lora whispers to my ear as she pulls me to the other side of the room away from Regine and Merante.

"I know you did that on purpose." Merante comes up to me on the way home.

"I did. Well actually, it's kind of ridiculous, Lora and Maurice had a theory that you would exclude me out of the criticisms and all, since I don't know, that you're maybe a bit more fond of me than the others?"

"Not going to lie, I really am fonder of you. And I do not exclude errors, it's like scolding Michelangelo for his masterpieces? I like your friends already."

And we look at each other again, and just like time slowed down, he looks away before I could fathom whether I'm starting to like him more than I actually should.

Merante

 _My darling Odette, you deserve more than what this theatre currently treats you. My prima ballerina, what has the world done to you?_

 _"Merante?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"What's wrong?"_

 _"Nothing, my love, nothing."_

Odette

"I may have to leave the opera."

A beautiful Sunday afternoon, the Sunday after the Nutcracker performance. Merante and I have gone cozier towards each other more than we should. After my performance as Clara, he, right after the play, pulled me at the backstage dressing room, not exactly the most romantic place in the opera, and asked if I wanted to go somewhere other than the school cafeteria and the science dissecting area. I just smiled and he knew. We both knew.

But I definitely did not know about this.

"As in, the opera _opera_? Or _this_ opera?"

"This opera. Lucien Petipa has contacted me, he sent me a letter yesterday and I was hoping to give you the news first. He lives on the other side of France. He has opened up a private theatre, for lessons alone. And was hoping I would join him, and continue what I've always planned with him."

"This is wonderful news, Merante." Just when I've planned to devote my plans to him, fate takes him away from me, ballet takes him away from me.

"My darling, it will only be a short while."

"How long?"

"A few years. It will fly by so fast, Odette, we wouldn't notice it."

"Yes, of course, we wouldn't notice the time. Because when you come back, it would be like you never left."

"I _will_ come back for you, my darling."

Merante

 _There have been numerous attempts that Sunday afternoon. I had hoped that you would have told me to stay, and I would in a heartbeat, I would put you first above that opportunity, but you knew what was best for me, and you chose passion for me over feelings—over love. I knew I loved you even more. I attempted to get to your nerves until you break and would tell me to stay. I attempted to have you change my mind when I faked second thoughts, which I had when the days grew closer for my departure but you stood your ground and you were there until the carriage took me away. Not a single tear. But I continued to write you letters, every day. You wrote back from every day, to every week, to when you weren't busy, to when you found the time to. But I still wrote to you every single day and have never loved you any less._

 _"Merante. You're so far away."_

 _"No, I'm right here, my love." I hold her hand across the table and tighten my grip around hers._

 _"Where are you?"_

 _"Paris. Sunday afternoon."_

 _"Ah. Beautiful, heartbreaking day that was."_

 _"You were more beautiful and you still are."_

 _She pulled me closer to a kiss and I don't regret Sunday afternoon after all._

Odette

He missed four of my solo performances. Every year, in his letter he would write of coming to watch the show when he had the time and the money. When he earned enough from his performances to see me, to see my side of Paris. Countless times he's said he missed me and sooner or later that Sunday afternoon would be a blur and the days, week, years in between wouldn't be there at all. I complained that Biology wasn't as fun and dissecting has been terrible. School's out and I've dedicated my career to the opera and that he would know where to find me.

We've written on the subject if I'd want to move with him but I told him that this opera was my home and leaving it would be very difficult. I would dedicate my life teaching and performing, that was what I wanted to do. I suggested that when he would come back, he would be Ballet Master and I, his muse. His only words for that letter, " _Of course."_ I didn't write to him after that. But he continued to write and I read.

I wrote to him about being officially done with school, about my parents hoping that I would find a job that would earn more than being a Prima Ballerina but I stood my ground as my parents faltered. I wrote that I wished you would be here, that I've turned down Premier Danseurs because I was hoping you'd still be, you know, feeling the same way.

He wrote again, same two words, " _Of course_."

Then I doubted.

Then he missed the fifth one.

"Aren't you a bit pressured that I'm getting married and Maurice has a child?" Lora, beautiful Lora, since we first met is getting married. The three of us has built a tradition to meet every Sunday afternoon for tea or coffee or milkshake to keep our friendship stronger. I know.

"Not at all."

"You know how I said five years ago about you and Merante ending up together? I heard from my fiancé that he may be getting married."

"Shut up. He still writes to me."

"Wow. A fairytale." Maurice leans forward.

"You're twenty years old and in four years your eggs will be losing hope and losing their flexibility." Lora sips her tea.

"He said a few years." I stir my cold tea.

"Another couple of decades more, sweetie. Premier Danseur, is that what he is now? When did he start?"

"Lora, have a little more faith."

"You just met your husband right after leaving the school." Lora shoots Maurice an eye.

"It's love at first sight."

"Odette, you still performing your solo?"

"Yeah, I really want to become Prima Ballerina."

"You're still too young." Maurice adds.

"I know. But this is what I really want to do."

"Have you ever thought about… I don't know. Something else other than dancing? Other than the opera?" It's Lora now.

"I'm earning enough for a living, I eat three times a day. The opera is my home, my parents are okay. I haven't thought about anything else other than teaching."

"That's true. Your career ends when they make the pictures move."

I sip my cold tea and I kind of regret having agreed to our Sunday Afternoon Tea.


	4. Chapter 4

Merante

 _I roll over to meet her eyes but they're shut._

 _Odette, you watched me yesterday as I taught the children how to execute fouettes like in textbook and you were there by the corner, wishing you would rather instead._

 _I brush the hair away from her face until she slowly open her eyes._

 _"What's wrong?"_

 _I kiss her forehead and stay like that for a while._

 _"Where are you?"_

 _"Home."_

 _"My favorite day."_

Odette

"WATCH IT!"

"What?!"

"Hey, miss! Watch where you're going!"

 _My dearest Odette, it has been so long since we've met. It's been a decade. I've listed so many empty promises since that Sunday afternoon, I've said so many false hopes and probably kept you on your toes._

 _I've missed 10 of your solo performances and 10 of your birthdays, your 18th marking a milestone in your life, sadly, the money I earned that moment hasn't been enough to send me to you._

 _Today, my darling Odette, I would meet you at the pier just as the sun would set, holding a bouquet that would soon be your favorite._

And there you were, by pier, holding a bouquet of flowers…

 _My darling._

 _I'm home._

You are home.


	5. Chapter 5

Odette

"Odette, there so many things I want to tell you. But first, these flowers are for you." We're at a café near the pier and I've left the opera in my ballet attire, top to bottom. "I've missed you, terribly."

I do the most embarrassing thing my mother highly disapproves of, I pull him to a kiss and hear my chair fall backwards. I straddle on him in a tight hug and kiss him some more. A decade's worth of missing the boy who left me heartbroken. "Odette-"

"Shut up and kiss me."

And he does.

"Where are you planning to stay? How long will you stay? Do you have to go back to Lucien? How is the opera there?"

"One question at a time, my darling. I'm planning to stay where you stay, if that is okay, if not I have a back-up plan. I don't plan on going back to Lucien because I've been spent and he thinks I am ready and that is good enough. I will pursue being Ballet Master here but being Premier Danseur has to sharpen me a bit, I feel I am not yet ready, that I would prefer to dance for a bit. But I do teach a few pupils, Lucien doesn't mind. The opera there is beautiful, you should perform there some time. I would love the people there admire you."

"You could stay with me, of course. I would love it very much. Premier Danseur. Wow. That's really… wow. Are you still hiding your face from the crowd?"

He squeezes my hand.

"The crowd very much loves my face."

"C'mon, my room transferred to a different quarter. They designed the building over the years and expanded it. There are rooms for foreign guests who wish to perform for the locals, and we've added a few training rooms too. Children enroll every year and the older ones leave when they're ready to or when their heart is not in this field. It's okay. I've been teaching the children for quite a while and it is wonderful. I hope you would be their Ballet Master too. The master to class ratio is just not that good. We had to extend the hours. But we get by."

"How are Lora and Maurice? I hope you are still in touch with them."

"Yeah, we're closer than ever. Lora is getting married and Maurice is already married with a child."

"Wow. Really."

"Really. Here, right this way." We walk up the stairs and take the left wing. The right wing is for the training rooms. The theatre is in a different building, facing the pier. "This is me." I open the door to my room, I hadn't realized, when I offered him to stay with me, that the bed might be a bit small for the both of us. It's a twin-sized bed but I don't think there is enough room for tossing and turning.

"I love it already."

"There is an extra drawer for your clothes." I grab the empty vase and set the bouquet in place and poured in some water. "I've got the day off today, and tomorrow as well. I only work on the weekdays but if the opera has a performance for the month, they take away my Saturdays and Sunday mornings. I could tell the Director if you'd want a spot."

"Come and sit down with me for a bit, Odette. We could plan these tomorrow. For now, I want to listen to your stories."

"Oh uh. Okay." I sit beside him on the bed. "You look more mature. You've grown some facial hair too. Don't the men shave over there?"

"Oh, you don't like my beard?"

"I love it."

"Are you doing anything today other than looking for the Director?"

"No, why? Do you want to stroll Paris?"

"I would love to make you dinner."

"… Wait what? Will you take me out to dinner? Or make out with me until dinner?" He lets out a laugh and then pulls me to a kiss.

"I will make dinner for us and I will make out with you until dinner."

"Silly boy, what are we? Fifteen? Make out until dinner."

He takes me under the covers and I'm not sure if the other rooms heard what we were going through.


	6. Chapter 6

Merante

 _Today, I'm taking her out to see the new Paris. The one with the half-built Eiffel Tower, along the pier and we will buy croissants, and she will have her favorite baguette and jam, and we will be young again. Not the Paris of 1858, no, not that Paris._

Odette

"Where are you taking me this time?"

"I saw an opening tonight at another local opera house, I want us to watch it."

"Won't people recognize us? Won't they think that we'll be there to judge or something?"

"Nonsense, what if they do recognize us? Will they kick us out? C'mon, I paid for our seats, you cannot back out now. I trapped you."

"What am I going to wear? It is a formal occasion, I don't have anything in my closet other than costumes and ballet practice-wear. I won't have time to have a dress made."

"We'll pick one out from the shop, ready-made."

"I'm paying for the dress."

* * *

"THESE ARE SO EXPENSIVE. I cannot. Let me just find something in the closet. I'm sure I have something somewhere."

"This long gown would suit you perfectly."

"That slit on its side though."

"You're actually worried about how far that slit will go when people actually watch your skirt fly up when you pirouette or fouette? C'mon. It's how you deliver it."

And I buy the dress.

* * *

"What play are we watching?"

"We are watching Le Corsaire at the Académie Royale de Musique, it is just here in Paris."

"We are going to watch… A Pirate?"

"- Fall in love with a harem girl. It's going to be beautiful. Lucien's brother, Marius Petipa, revived it. We have to see its magnificence."

"Alright. Enchant me with this pirate."

We haven't even step foot up the steps people already recognized us.

"MADEMOISELLE ODETTE."

"THE BALLERINA! ODETTE! She's here!"

"Mademoiselle Odette! A photo, please!"

Merante

 _That was a noisy night. I almost didn't have you to myself because every second there would be a photo, everyone would want a photo of you or a photo with you. Nevertheless, I held your hand the entire time._

 _"What are we going to do today, Merante?"_

 _"Do you want to watch a play?"_

 _I know she would say no. It hasn't really been her thing for a while. A lost cause. A lost love._

 _"Not today."_

 _I kiss her hand and smile, "Okay, my love."_

Odette

We finally take our seats after an awful long time. My feet are aching before the play starts. I did not wear the right shoes for these.

"You're beautiful." Merante kisses me on the cheek.

And the orchestra plays. It's odd being part of the audience when I'm usually the one on stage. How odd is it that I'm nervous. Audience-fright? Is there such a term? So this is how the view would be, not from backstage, not from the side. Not on stage. Not at the center. I am on the ground, sitting on one of the chairs at a fairly good view of the performance.

And there are the main soloists. On stage. By the rock, two lovers cast away from a sunken ship. And the curtains drop.

"A special guest. Mademoiselle Odette and Premier Danseur Merante."

 _Crap_. The usherettes eye us and gesture us to go on stage. _Double crap_. Merante takes my hand and we climb up the stage.

"A segment if you would give us the pleasure."

 _I AM NOT WEARING THE RIGHT SHOES!_ I didn't know opera houses had this sort of special segment! I break it. "I'm sorry, I'm not in the right shoes for this." But it's Merante who says this. "Next play, we'll prepare a segment for you."

The Director nods in approval and hopes to have us keep the promise. But before we go back down the steps, I chuck my heels aside and raise my arm and take a bow. The opera roars and I take a good look at Merante, mouth wide open, clueless. I'll just use my toes as the base, I don't have to literally tiptoe, I'll just give the audience a taste of the Plum Fairy's dance with the Prince. Merante understands what act I'm performing and he's followed effortlessly. We end our mini performance with him lifting me and us perfecting the routine. Another roar and more rounds of applause.

"Odette and Merante!"

 _Odette and Merante._

* * *

"Tell me about your side of France."

"I've been offered by Marius himself to head to Russia. But I told him I'll be thinking about it. I didn't want to leave Paris… France, yet. I've just grown a bit too attached here." And here I was kind of hoping he was more attached to me. "He's quite a big personality in Russia and the opportunity to perform in one of his operas is magnificent. I can't wait. I'm going to be huge but not yet. Premier Danseur is not what I had as a career. Ballet Master. To be like him, maybe. To revive old plays. To make plays. Wow. That is what I want. I've been looking up poems and seeing poets and talking to them about my ideas. They weren't keen at first, but they told me they would give it some thought. It is beautiful there, Odette, it is new. Paris still has its old roots but this is good. I hope you would see it."

"Stay." It just slips. I grab his hand thinking he would disappear any second but he is still here. "For as long as you can. Stay forever. A decade you said would be a blur when you arrive. It has, I forgot what I had been doing, all mundane obviously, all Merante-less. But when you talked about being offered a spot beside Marius, wow, in a different country, how long, thrice the length of a decade? I don't want-" _to move on from you_ "-you to be that far away, how long would the letters arrive?"

"Then come with me."

"You know I wouldn't."

"Yes. You wouldn't."

* * *

"During the summer, just for the summer, let us see Russia, and we will come back here. If we won't like it there, we will not return. If we love it, we give it some thought."

"This summer? The tickets for the train. The ship. The journey. For how long?"

"We will be together. It will be fast. The trip, we wouldn't even notice."

"This summer. I will give that some thought."

"Of course. Of course. It's a huge step."

"It is spontaneous, Merante."

"It is, my darling."

* * *

"First position." _Tap_

"Second position." _Tap._

"Third position." _Tap._

"Fourth position." _Tap._

"Resting fifth." _Tap._

"Merante, what are you doing?" I wake up from what sounds like the tapping of the end of a cane. My eyes adjust to the light and I see him _dressed up_ in what makes him look like _maestro,_ his facial hair match with the clothes in combination of red, black, and white.

"Good morning, my love." He sets the cane aside and kisses me good morning. "I went to the Director this morning. I know you wanted to be with me when he offered me the part but I just couldn't wait to start. So I went, and he gave me the part instantly. He knew who I was, maybe Lucien introduced me beforehand… I got the part. I start today. I would be teaching beginners."

"That's wonderful, Merante."

"Should we have breakfast?"

"What time is it?"

"The sun hasn't risen fully yet."

"You disturbed Director too early. And it's too early to eat."

"Not _that_ breakfast."

 _Oh._ He's dropped the cane and already has his hands right where it should be.

* * *

 _Is this what I really want? Am I too afraid to step out of my comfort zone? Am I not curious what is beyond the borders of my hometown?_

"My love, are you alright?"

 _Do I really want to spend all the rest of my days locked up where it is safest?_

"Yes."

 _Sweetest Merante, you deserve more than what France could offer you. Do not let your potential go to waste. Do not be afraid to leave me—or rather,_ Odette, _do not be afraid to leave home._

"Merante."

"Yes?"

"Shall we pack?"

Merante

 _My darling, Odette, I was so excited to take you away—to be with me, unafraid of the circumstances that may soon surround us._

 _Until we set foot on foreign land, we had to build our own safe zone. You are my safe zone, until I was too, until I wasn't._

 _"Do you not find people feeding the pigeons entertaining? They are just… eating, nibbling, having their afternoon snack before they get bored of the bread we feed them."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"What if people are treated like that too. We entertain them until they get bored of us."_

 _"My love, I do get bored but never of you."_


	7. Chapter 7

Merante

 _It was a couple of months before we would set foot in foreign land of 1858. Back then, I was beginning my new career as a young Ballet Master. A trainee of Lucien. Odette was nowhere to be seen around the room, she must have been practicing her part. A few techniques she'd known by heart—a perfect execution. New tricks up her sleeves and she would grace everyone's presence. Everyone would look at her._

 _But, today is not 1858 and she is nowhere to be seen._

"AGAIN! Do you not know how to do your job properly?! AGAIN! We have guests today and this is how you behave?! AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN!"

 _My beautiful Odette, how could they treat you like this, like you haven't shown them enough beauty?_

 _My love, I would take you away back to two months before leaving for Russia. I wish you wouldn't have said_ Yes.

Odette

One. _Tap._

Two. _Tap._

"Again." I roll my eyes. I have my own bar in the room and at the corner of my eye, Merante, teaching his first batch of student.

"Practice. Practice. Practice. It is not enough to _do_ the execution. Add some emotion, even if it is just basic positions. Again." The little girls are terrified and I already feel that tomorrow he would be lucky enough to have a student in the room. "Go easy on them." I tell him from across the room.

And the children exhale.

* * *

"I've been given this part and I would like to accept your 10 year-old offer." It was dinner of the same day. Two hours ago, I saw the same batch of students approach Director and overheard them wanting to change Ballet Masters, that Merante was rude and that the money they spent is going to a waste—that they would have rather donated it to charity.

"We could start after your morning lesson and after mine."

"Merante, I insist."

"How so?"

"The children are afraid of you. Hell, I would too. They've been doing basic positions every meeting, no progress."

"What else?"

"They would have rather donated it instead."

"They could be great."

"I know, Merante, but I think you would be more suited to someone more advanced, someone who's been performing for everyone for the longest time."

"I have to start with the basics."

"Maybe you've been over with the basics when you left to be under the tutorial of Lucien, Merante."

He gave it a long thought then nodded.

* * *

"So," This is already the following day, "shall we begin?" I position at the bar and Merante is front of me with his _maestro_ -good looks.

"What's the play about?"

"A really, _really_ , sad girl."

He flips through the piece while I continue to stretch.

"That doesn't sound like you. You're more of a fairytale type."

" _My, my, my_ Merante. You have lost a lot. I'm trying different genres now. I think I've gone past my fairytale phase. I'm doing something dramatic. Black Swan type. No more Plum Fairy. Now, shall we?"

"Is this new?"

"Yeah, a farewell from the Director, his first and last he said. Not sure if he'd want it re-mastered, maybe not."

"Is this an ode?"

"I have no idea. Seems so?"

"To you?"

"For us."

* * *

"When's the opening?"

"The day before we depart."

"Director sure has a very emotional side, doesn't he?"

I take another chip from his plate. We're somewhere by the pier, again, another small café that has lesser of thick perfume and smoke. It's an hour after sunset, we just finished a quarter of Scene One of Director's untitled masterpiece. As I watch little children play with, what must have been, a lost ball and a stray dog, how different would Russia be from the scene? Would it have the same thick atmosphere? Would it be colder? Longer nights and shorter days?

What would the children look like? Thicker clothes or thicker skin.

Then I look at Merante, how different would _he_ be. How different would _I_ be.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Just thinking. What has Lucien said about Russia?"

"I haven't written to him yet. I shall, next week."

"I see."

And the ball somehow made its way over the barrier and dove into the sea. Now, they're arguing, the dog's barking.

"We don't have to hurry." I look at him. "Russia, I mean."

"No." I reach for his hand. "This is good. For us, too. Let's look for something else. The world needs to see you. This is an opportunity for you."

He stands up and leans across the table to kiss me.

"For us." He says after.

Merante

 _I catch her sitting by the grand staircase. A rug in hand and hair disheveled. She must have sensed me watching her because she turns my way—tear-stained. I walk down to sit beside her. The opera is empty, the students are out. It's almost the next day but they demand to have her here._

 _"My love." I reach for her cheek but she slaps my hand away._

 _"No. It's not allowed."_

 _"But nobody is here."_

 _She looks at me like I've said the most horrible thing._

 _"I'm not keeping you away. Stop looking at me like that."_

 _"I know. I'm the one who has been pushing you away." I reach for her face once more, this time she doesn't push me away._

 _"I'm sure you know this, I adore this opera. I really do. But now, I don't think I still do."_

 _I pull her abruptly into a kiss, and there, falls the hundred teardrops she's been holding for a while._


	8. Chapter 8

Merante

 _We both hadn't had enough sleep, I listened to her complaints, nodded at the right moments, and listened again. She looked at me and I looked at her. She may have wanted me to say something but there was nothing to say. How could I pick up her falling pieces? There is no way to glue them back, no way to erase the awful memories. I could only listen, nod, and listen some more._

 _"What?" She tells me that morning. There was nothing to do that day. The students would be rehearsing and I would only appear at the performance. I took the whole morning off and I asked if she would too._

 _They agreed._

 _And now we're in bed back at my place, hair disheveled and legs tangled._

 _"What?" She asks again, looking straight at me. There is so much to say but not enough words. "You know how dancing was supposed to keep me alive? Because that is what do. I dance. Ballet, it's both a living and a lifestyle. Look at me, Merante. It's like I worked hard for my own grave." She looks at me for another second then turns her back against me._

 _I brush the hair away from her nape then planted a kiss._

 _"You could teach. Like me."_

 _"That's not really what I had in mind… For now, I will stick to what I currently have now. It's not like I am homeless or anything." She slowly sits up._

 _"Do you have to go?"_

 _"I think so."_

 _"Stay. Stay forever."_


	9. Chapter 9

Odette

Act One is taking a lot longer than I thought. I haven't seen Merante so involved with this piece. Actually, I haven't seen him like this at all. I knew what Lucien had in store for him, I knew he took it to heart—and by heart, he wrote it in his letters that he was ready, that he was close to being what he always wanted to be, but never have I imagined it would be this—

"Odette, please, again. Okay?" – terrifying.

"We haven't been to Scene Two. Is this scene one? I feel like we haven't even reached 30 minutes into the whole play."

"I just want this to be perfect. It is Director's only piece and it deserves the same respect."

"I don't mean to rush but I also mean to, there is not enough time. There is dress rehearsal and props and timing and music, the orchestra. I mean, a whole lot of preparations."

"Cramming is not good, Odette."

"For heaven's sake, Merante, we have to move on!"

That was the first time I raised my voice at him, and I'm afraid it won't be the last. He looked like he had something to say but decided against it when his lips formed a line.

He finally nodded and we haven't said a word since.

We've also finished Act Two.

Our session is basically summed to his um's and hm's and nods. It was more of his observation than anything he has to say. I feel like I'm swallowing more guilt than what the situation has to offer. At the end of the day, after he'd left without saying anything else other than "Good job", I find him waiting outside the room.

"I thought you weren't going to talk to me." We look at each other.

"You know that's going to be difficult, Odette."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry if I was slow. That was just how it was. With Lucien, I mean. Slow and steady."

"Yes, well, we're fast-paced here and the touches come during the dress rehearsal—when we've memorized our part. We find it a lot easier than having it done carefully, step-by-step. One a time—something like that. I hope you understand."

He nods again.

"You've become reserved again."

"Yeah, well, that was just how it was."

* * *

It took a while but we managed without breaking apart in time for dress rehearsal, the children are still afraid of him and he's inside his shell more than ever. A few comments here and there about emotion and "feeling" the dance, other than that, _pure_ observation. He would always have a pen and paper with him, I would catch him jotting down notes, and I would ask him.

He would give me the same reply, " _That's just how it was."_

A week before the big day, we decided to eat lunch elsewhere—the opera's café.

"I'm starting to get the feeling you're not fond of me anymore."

"Nonsense, Odette."

"Yeah, I could have been a millionaire with how many times you used the phrase _That's just how it was_ on me or on anybody."

He continues to eat his sandwich.

"Was it because I raised my voice?"

"I'm not a child, Odette, I knew at some point it was bound to happen."

"You could at least up your sentences or replies, there are a lot of English words."

He eats and I pick on my lunch. It's like we're 12 years younger.

"I don't think this Russia thing is a good idea," He looks at me, "Yeah, you heard me, what if this is the _real_ you and I'm the talkative one, what if everyone is just at exactly the way you are treating me as of the moment— like blue cheese."

"I love blue cheese."

"Right, not the point, but you know. I don't think I could stand it. I could stand you, just one of you, what if there are lots like you? Wow. I must be out of my mind."

"We're only going to give it a try for the summer. That's not so bad, is it?"

I pick on the last slice of my sandwich and chuck it in my mouth. Merante watches me chew and I speed up to swallow. Now it's my turn to nod.

* * *

It's his turn to sleep in my room and I haven't dropped the Russia topic, I feel like he's annoyed due to the one word replies I receive.

"Merante."

"Odette."

I turn to face his back but he turns to face me.

"Russia, I think it's scary."

"It's not." He rests his hand on my cheek. He must have noticed my frown because he leans forward to kiss the crease I made. "You'll love it."

"I'm not ready."

"You don't have to be ready, you just have to be excited."

"I'm not excited either."

"Yet."

"Yes… Yet."

And we both fall back to sleep.

* * *

Even the day before the opening, all I could think about was Russia. I can't even focus on the play. I knew I had my attention elsewhere when Merante started snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"You nervous?"

"For Russia."

He throws his hands up in the air. "You gotta be kidding me. The play is less than 24 hours and you're thinking about Russia? Focus on today, darling."

"Yes. I'm okay. Just cue me when I zone out. I know what I'm doing."

"Russia is far hours away from now. I will worry about Russia with you after the play, okay?"

I nod.

"Focus."

I nod again and he kisses my forehead.

Now, I have my attention on his forehead kisses than Russia… than tomorrow's big day.

* * *

"What's Russia going to be like?" I ask Merante as I end my first appearance to change costumes.

"Someone please sedate her."

I frown at him.

"I'm kidding, my love." Another forehead kiss. "We'll discuss this over dinner, okay?"

I nod.

We end Act One with a minute of applause before curtain break, the orchestra entertains them for about 30 seconds before Act Two and Merante is massaging my foot. I want to ask him again but he'll just shush me and give me the same reply.

I wait until the play is done.

We gather everyone on stage, lots of bowing while the orchestra continues playing. I am the last to take a bow, Merante hands me a bouquet of flowers with his name and a brief message,

" _Just like Paris, Russia will fall in love_ "

* * *

Merante cooked dinner at his place like it was normal to leave for Russia the following afternoon.

"You're suddenly quiet."

"Yeah, I guess dancing got all the steam out."

"You were beautiful up that stage. I could watch you dance forever you know."

"My, my, how tiring. Like a ballerina trapped in a music box."

"That turned around in a way I didn't expect." Then both laughed until we gained composure.

"I didn't know you cooked, Merante."

"I honestly don't know what I'm doing."

"Me." Silence. Then he looks at me.

"Dinner can wait, I guess." He shuts the stove and leaves his unfinished pasta sauce to remove his shoes. I slip out of my dress and we're under the covers in minutes. "You're not hungry are you?" I ask him.

He smirks at me and goes down.

Merante

 _"Why do you think we're back here? I thought Russia was for us." The play ended and we're back in the empty auditorium. Most of the lights are out and it's a beautiful, quiet evening._

 _"It is home. We always find our way back home."_

 _"We could have settled."_

 _"But we did, we did for a long time. We just decided to move on, you know."_

 _I nodded and kissed her for always having the right thing to say._

 _"What's up with that?" She smiled._

 _"Which one, my love?"_

 _"The kissing."_

 _"Do I need a reason to kiss you?"_

 _"Do you need a reason? Do you_ have _one?"_

 _"Is adoring you enough?"_

 _This time she kisses me._


	10. Chapter 10

Odette

"How long will the journey take?"

"A day and a half, Odette."

"That's an awful long time."

"It is."

We take our seat in the train. Comfy seat, spacious coaches. There's a bar, a café, pillows, restrooms. Other people—people who don't recognize us. We're all strangers.

"Could we walk along the train?"

"We have to get settled first, Odette."

I look at the people passing by. Some with funny hats. Large hats. Flowery hats. Formal people. People of different cultures. People of different races. Lovers. Family. Friends. Reckless friends. Couples like Merante and I. I look at Merante.

"Do you have another question?"

I shake my head and think of another. "I'm just observing."

"Some may think it is impolite if you stare at them for too long. A glance should suffice."

"There are many kinds of people. Like books. You can't judge a book by its cover."

"Are you going to befriend a few passengers, Odette?"

"It has crossed my mind."

I watch as Merante puts his hand-carry—his briefcase—on the shelf above us.

"It's my first time on a train, I really don't know what to expect."

"Well, 2000 miles is a very tiring journey. Have you gotten a book with you?"

"No. Are there beds?"

"Beds?"

"Yes, Merante. Beds. For sleeping."

"No, my love, we have to sleep on couches."

"How about the floor?"

"I certainly do not approve. You could lie down on your side of the couch."

"That's not very comfortable, Merante."

He reaches for my hand and kisses the back of it. I may have asked too many questions.

Merante

 _"Where are you now?" It is a busy hour at the opera and I slip in the kitchen to check on Odette. She must have noticed I've been looking at the empty dishes more than I should have. "You can't be wanting to clean those dishes, right?"_

 _"Heading to Russia."_

 _"Oh."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"That was a good time."_

 _"Yeah, it was."_

 _I look at Odette, who was wiping the first batch of dishes. "You can't be wanting to clean those dishes, right?" And she laughed, shook her head, walked towards me to kiss my cheek, and then stood in front of the dishes by the sink._

 _"Not at all, but I need to."_

 _I stood beside her and started the fresh batch, I may need to head back upstairs before anyone notices I'm missing but that's not what's important at the moment—that was almost always never important._

Odette

 **Hour One**

"We're about to move, you ready?"

I nod. "Come sit beside me, Merante."

"Are you frightened?" He moves to sit beside me.

"Not at all, I just think the first hour should be spent with you."

He kisses me on the cheek and we hold hands.

 **Hour Two**

"Are your legs aching, my love?"

I shake my head. I look outside and compare how the trees move fast and farther away while on carriages—on horses.

 **Hour Three**

"Are you hungry, my love?"

I shake my head. "You should read your book, I've been noticing that you've been wanting to."

"Are you sure?"

I nod. He reaches for his book and returns to his seat beside me, I return to watch landscapes change.

 **Hour Four**

I tap his shoulder a couple of times. "I'm hungry." I confess.

He places a bookmark on the page we was at and closes the book.

"Shall we walk to the café?"

"What is there to eat?"

"We shall find out." He stands up and lets me walk ahead of him. But I stop a few steps after him because I have absolutely no idea where the café is.

"Why'd you stop?" I feel his hand behind my back.

"I know you're being a gentleman but I have no idea where the café is."

"Just straight ahead, darling."

"Okay."

It's a train. Of course. How complicated could this place be. It's just one straight line, no u-turns, right, nor left. Just a straight line, how could I possibly get lost. Maybe heading to the restroom. Or I don't know what coach we're staying. _Now I'm lost_.

By what seems to be the longest walk I've taken, we reach the café—three coaches long. I choose the couch by the window and a waiter walks up to us. "Don't you want by the bar, miss?"

"If I would have wanted by the bar, I would have walked there."

"I'm sorry, madam, I thought of giving you better options."

"Maybe, if I wanted to intoxicate myself. I feel like being sober at the moment."

He blinks at me.

"We're alright here, thank you." Merante smiles at him and I too smile, "We'll have the menu, thank you." The waiter forces a smile but I know he must have been irritated with my replies.

"Did I sound mean, Merante?"

"No, you were honest. There is a difference."

"How about the tone of my voice?"

"Not at all."

"Should I have said sorry?"

"Not at all, my love."

"I should give him a tip."

"Yes, that would suffice."

"Is that how it is? When you don't mean to sound mean but offended the other, you give them a tip?"

"Not all circumstances."

"I'm going to go bankrupt with the way I speak."

Merante laughs then shakes his head like I'm the most unbelievable person on the train.

The same waiter arrives with two menus and hands us each of it. He says he'd come back in a few minutes to take down our orders. I go for the fish and chips and Merante goes for the Tuscan salad.

"You make it seem like I should go on a diet or something, am I fat?"

"You may have to give me a huge amount of tip with every nonsense question you ask me."

"Fish and chip for the lady and a salad for the gentleman. That doesn't sound appealing. They could think you're my sugar daddy or something."

"You're not fat, my love. And I like salad. It's something I'm accustomed to, and I'm not really hungry."

"I should order the salad."

"No, my love, you eat what you want. Even if you gain a little weight, I would still be here."

"No you wouldn't. There is a term called body-shaming."

"You're ridiculous, darling."

"You haven't seen me gain weight, Merante. Would you want that?"

"I would want you to still be in love with me—that's what I want."

The waiter arrives to take our order, I stick with my fish and chips and Merante sticks with his Tuscan salad.

"Anything else? How about a drink?"

"Water, please." I say.

"Your best red wine."

I look at Merante as the waiter jots it down, repeats our orders, and says it'll take about 15minutes to prepare. The waiter leaves and I finally address the new problem in my head.

"Wine?"

" _Best Red_ wine."

I don't say anything.

"We have a fat lady and a drunk gentleman, the perfect couple."

"The perfect couple." I smile and he reaches for my hand to kiss it again.

 **Hour Five**

We leave the café and I give our waiter a generous amount of tip. And I also apologize.

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

End of discussion.

 **Hour Six**

Merante returns to his book and I continue to watch landscape change.

"I should have brought a book."

"I should have brought an extra book."

"It's not your obligation."

"You're my obligation."

 **Hour Seven**

"Do they have a dancing hall here?"

"In this train?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to dance?"

"I would like to stretch some more, other than walking, sitting, or bending."

"We could bend other ways."

"Just return to your book, Merante."

 **Hour Eight**

"Aren't you feeling sleepy, my love?"

"Just a little. But I'm okay."

I look at him. He returns the gaze.

"You're staring." He puts down his book.

I shake my head, "Nothing." I look out and the sun is setting.

 **Hour Twelve**

How long have I slept. It's dark around and only dim lights by the corners are on. Merante is across me, sleeping, his book closed and neatly placed on his lap. I have a blanket around me with which I have no recollection of having. I close my eyes and fall asleep in almost an instant.

I wonder what time is it.

 **Hour Thirteen**

I also do not know how Merante and I ended in the bathroom together.

 _Oh. Wait._ Right. I was supposed to brush my teeth and wash up, because half the day without doing so gets me uncomfortable. Sleepy self plus a dash of being an idiot forgets to lock the bathroom door.

" _Jesus Christ. Odette!_ " He screams in a whisper and I just look at him like it is normal for someone to walk in on me while I'm half-clothed.

And… you know what's next, after the scolding and lectures.

" _Ssshh shhh shh."_ I'm laughing under my breath, legs wrapped around Merante—very sinful.

He peeks outside and checks then double checks the surroundings.

"It's dark out and silent. Like a horror movie."

"Okay, no, no. We're done here."

But we both know I'm lying and we don't go out in another 20 minutes.

 **Hour Sixteen**

MIDNIGHT? How could it only be midnight? I shake Merante.

"Yes, my love?"

"It's only midnight." He looks annoyed.

"Yes. It would seem so."

"How?"

"I would like to find that out myself."

"I'm not sleepy anymore."

He rubs his eyes and moves to sit beside me. He fixes the blanket to cover us both then rests his head on my shoulder.

It's a nice feeling.

"What do you want to talk about that will bore us to sleep?"

"Talking to you never bores me to sleep."

"I could vouch for that."

But we both fall asleep in this comfortable silence.

 **Hour Twenty-One**

Now I'm definitely awake. The kind of awake from a good sleep. The kind of awake where you can do the chores you've been planning—the kind of awake that gives you motivation to do something. Merante is awake as well—reading his book.

"Good morning, sweetheart." I didn't feel him move away from me last night.

"Good morning." The proper thing to do is to check if my hair is still in one piece and my clothes are okay.

Check.

And check.

"Are you hungry? Or do you want water?"

"I think I'm more of thirsty at the moment."

"I'll be right back." He kisses me good morning on the cheek before heading to get us water.

I fold the blanket and set it aside. I look outside and I see more mountains and green—an open space. The world is a lot bigger than I imagined. I've been confined in that town for too long. Merante arrives with waffles as well.

"We could have gone together. Thank you." I took the water he was offering to me with the plate of waffles.

"I had it done a good 30 minutes or so before you woke up. Is it still warm?"

"Yes." I chew on the waffle. "Have you eaten?"

"Does coffee count?"

"You get a waffle, Merante. There is enough for the both of us."

He takes a waffle.

"What time did you wake up?"

"I've been awake for a while."

He must have been awake since midnight then.

 **Hour Twenty-Two**

"Can we walk along the train?"

"I don't see why not."

"For almost 24 hours, we have even conversed with any of the passengers."

"The waiter."

"Yes, but, that's not exactly a conversation of what I pictured in mind."

"Do you want to gossip?"

"What. No, heavens no. I just thought maybe we'd know someone who was going to Russia and maybe while we are in Russia, I don't know, not feel that lost?"

"I know my way around Russia. Don't worry."

"Yes, I know, Merante. But… I don't."

We look at each other for a while.

"Let's go find some people."

 **Hour Twenty-Three**

"Why is nobody awake at 8am?"

"Why was everybody asleep at 9pm?"

"Good point."

I look outside and Merante returns to his book.

"You and I should talk."

"This sounds serious." He sets his book aside. "What would you like to talk about, darling?"

"We got roughly twelve hours to spare, give me a heads up on Russia."

"There are not enough words."

"You're telling me that more than 10,000 words in the English language aren't enough to describe a country."

He nods and I'm not satisfied.

"Tell me about the trees."

"Pretty green."

"The buildings."

"Built well. Sturdy, I guess."

"How about the surroundings?"

"Clean."

"The operas?"

"Beautiful."

"So must be the women."

"There are 10,000 plus words in each country that I would gladly look up to explain why I'd refer to you as the most beautiful woman I've looked at."

 **Hour Twenty-Four**

"Twenty-fourth hour." This time it was Merante.

"Yeah."

"You know what this means?"

"That there are roughly 12 hours left in this hell of a journey?"

"Close. But that I'm also ready to spend every day like this with you."

"On a train to Russia?"

"Anywhere."

"You sure about that?"

"Maybe, tone down on how you usually ask questions."

"You sure you're ready?"

"Don't make me doubt, woman."


	11. Chapter 11

Merante

 _"HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY ME" That was enough to have me run to wherever she was. I don't even think twice, I don't know where she could be, all I know was that I had to find her._

 _"PEASANT" Another slap. I know where she was. Before the next slap, I carry her away from the would-be impact._

 _"MERANTE."_

 _"Regine. I think that is enough for today."_

 _"She doesn't know where she belongs. I should shake some sense into her. Apparently, two strikes are not enough."_

 _"Madam, please, if you will." I gesture her to head out the room. I cannot bear to look at_ her _yet._

 _"I bought her. Just keep that in mind, Merante."_

 _She walks away but the woman I love doesn't._

 _She doesn't cry either._

 _"My love."_

 _She shoves me away. "You didn't.. you didn't have to do that. I deserved it."_

 _"My love, you deserve all the happiness in world. Not this."_

 _"Maybe I don't deserve the world."_

 _And for the first time, I didn't know what to say._


	12. Chapter 12

Odette

 **Hour Twenty-Five**

"You know how I was sort of expecting someone to ask for my autograph or something. But this kind of attention is nice as well."

"I didn't know you were a narcissist."

"You gotta be kidding me. Really?"

"Now that you mention it. Has fame gotten in your head?"

"When you've been living in Paris for 23 years, 19 years dedicated to ballet and 4 years dedicated to walking—most of which growing up on stage—people come around and they notice you. They recognize you. Is that being a narcissist or is that just being familiar?"

"I'd have to look that up."

 **Hour Twenty-Six**

We decide to walk the length of the train because sitting for a day has done no good to my legs. I could feel a clot forming in my arteries. Merante has also finished with his book, and he asked if I had something in mind that I would like to do.

Kind Merante.

Thoughtful Merante.

Always careful with his words—always careful with me.

There are more coaches in this train than I thought, and there are a lot more people at the far back than where we're seated. Due to security measures, we weren't able to extend beyond the boundaries of our ticket charges. And not too long, also due to security measures, they asked us to return to our respective coach.

Strict Russians. Or are they French. Or are they just really strict as a protocol. We head to the café for some mid-morning tea. They gave us macaroons as well.

"This is more boring than I thought."

"Then you could imagine what my 1st and 2nd train ride looked like."

"Oh. Right. How did you manage?"

"Books."

Smart Merante.

 **Hour Twenty-Seven**

"I could never entertain myself with books."

"It's relaxing once you get used to it."

"Dancing is relaxing."

"I suppose."

"Is teaching relaxing?"

"Not at all."

"The children were quite afraid of you, you know."

"You did mention it once or twice, my love."

"Why are you always pertaining to me as 'my love'?"

"Do you want me to call you 'Odette'? Is that more comfortable for you?"

I stay silent. It does sound weird. _Odette_. I feel like the only time he should address me as my given name is when he is upset with me. But or when even so, he never did.

"No. It sounds weird."

"You sure do ask a lot of questions. Lucien will be impressed."

"Does he like to ask questions too?"

"He'd gladly answer your questions."

Silence. More tea-sipping. More cookie-eating. More looking at Merante. And more of him glancing my way.

"I cannot wait to get out of these clothes."

He nods.

 **Hour Twenty-Eight**

"Eight more hours. You gotta be better at talking to me than you are in the sheets."

"Sleeping?"

"Do not toy with me, Merante."

"I was never the talker, you know that."

"Yeah, I know. I'm the talkative one. What if I lose my speech because a part of my brain is damaged? Then what."

"You're thinking too much."

"Tell me something."

"You are beautiful."

" _Merante._ "

"It's a compliment."

"Yes, I know, thank you. Tell me something. Talk to me. Tell me something. You stayed in Russia for ten years but the most I got from you is how you loved it there. And that was it. Tell me about Russia."

"There is really nothing much to say."

"You must be hiding something."

"Not really."

" _Not really._ You must have fallen in love somewhere along the way."

"Yes."

Back to more tea-sipping and cookie-eating. "How is she like?"

"Well, she's not you."

"Of course she's not. Is she more like you?"

"I guess. It was strange. Like falling in love with myself."

"Now, tell me, who is the narcissist."

And then we laugh.

 **Hour Twenty-Nine**

"Her name is Michelle. She isn't part of the opera. No, she didn't fancy the opera at all. Other than that, we're almost the same. She loves to teach—science. The universe. She was in love with the universe. For ten years, I've witnessed how she fell more and more in love with that dream. And she did make it. She's currently teaching in a university there. She fancied the stars even more. And then she fell in love with life after death and then correlated it with the stars. She was very imaginative and out of my league.

"Soon enough, we started falling in love but I was still in love with you. It was an awful feeling. We talked about things I never talked with you before. _Marriage. Children. More dreams._ Within the span of a decade we talked about things you and I could have never imagined. And then I did think about it. And for a moment, I was sure she and I were meant to fall in love.

"But as the days grew nearer for me to leave, we both begged me to stay. Yes. I begged _me_. I begged myself. It was another weird feeling. She was like my mirror image, you know. Remember when I wrote you the letters? Have you noticed how shorter and shorter they were becoming? Until I had nothing to say? Well, it wasn't because Lucien was keeping me busy—Michelle was keeping me busy.

"I don't know where we met. How we met. I was probably in the auditorium and she was finishing a project and then she needed to interview, I think that was how it went. We started with a school project and then we fell together. Have you even felt something like that? You weren't supposed to click, but then at one point, along the way, you _clicked_.

"That was what it was like with her. Anyway, we hit up a few times, along the way, I thought over and over after it all, if I was doing the wrong thing. That I was being unfaithful to you. You and I weren't together. But vowed my dedication to you. And I think I made it clear to you and to myself that it would be _you_ that I would be faithful.

"Could it be that I was too young at the time? That I said things and didn't think it through, that I was unaware, clueless, or indifferent of the weight? Maybe. I didn't know. But along the way, as I was with Michelle, I didn't see any future with her, I didn't see marriage along our timeline. I was always picturing it with you. Maybe I was unfaithful to _her_ and not you? Maybe I was unfaithful. Period.

"Michelle. Well, she must have known. She didn't say anything. That was how she was. She knew most the things and then she didn't. I don't know what she is up to now. I cannot guarantee if we wouldn't see her, maybe we would, maybe not.

"I may be slightly hoping that I don't."

 **Hour Thirty**

"Do you still, you know, love her?" I didn't like the weight of the question either. I didn't like the taste. _Bitter._

" _Love_. I never called her that. It was always 'Michelle'."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't."

"You're still not answering the question."

I do not want to find out. But I want to know. I don't know why I want to know.

Silence. No more tea-sipping and cookie-eating.

"No."

"Did you?"

Silence.

"Yes."

And I notice my exhale.

 **Hour Thirty-One**

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?" That sounded a lot more awful than when I said it in my head. "Does it sound like I'm not?"

He nods. _Crap._

"Merante. I'm okay. It was bound to happen. I expected it. I was a bit upset when you didn't show up because you always said you were sorry and you'd make it up the _next_ year but never did. That was my grudge from getting no explanation from you. So there, I know. The grudge may be back, stupid emotions, petty. But I'm okay. It just resurfaced."

"Okay."

"But…"

He looks at me and I look at him.

"… but, are you still, you know…" _Dedicated to me._ Please hear me out even if it's just in my head. Please listen to me.

"Yes. _Always._ "

And I do the thing he always does, even when he has no reason to, I lean across the table and kiss him. And I could feel him smiling.

 **Hour Thirty-Two**

"Wow, we should show more affection. Complimentary cookies." I bring the paper bag to our coach.

"You know how our affection goes. We'd be getting complimentary ways out of here."

"Jesus Christ. For a quiet, sober guy, you have odd ways."

"I need to keep you entertained."

 **Hour Thirty-Three**

"Have you ever held hands with Michelle?"

"Where is this going?"

"You fell in love with her once. Have you ever held hands?"

"I'm not accustomed to holding hands. That's a bit of a show-off. We never talked about it either."

"Have you reached out for her hand?"

"Are you comparing?"

"Why are you answering my question with a question?"

"Okay, I'm sorry. No, I never held or reached out for her hand. I never had the impulse to do so."

"But you said you were in love with her."

"Yes."

"Then, why do you reach out for my hand almost all the time?"

"Have you ever been given a new pair of ballet shoes but never used the new one because you currently have a worn out one? You've had the first pair since you could remember because you're more comfortable with it, you've danced with it, and imprinted on it. And then you wear the new ones for a change, for a special occasion but at the end of the day it just doesn't work. That's what it was with Michelle, that's how it _is_ with you."

"I'm an old pair of ballet shoes?"

"It wasn't meant to sound like I'm using you. Damn. I need to choose words carefully."

"No, no, no. I understand you, and you are careful with your words. I'm just lightening the mood."

"Yes, I suppose. Anyway, this is how it is with you, I'll always look for you, at the end of the day, crappy or good, at the end of the decade—crappy or good—I'd always look for you. You're basically home to me."

"You are careful with your words."

"I may read too many books. You know, broadened the things I want to say."

"That was a good line though. Me being your home."

"I am serious though."

Serious Merante—both a pretty and terrifying sight.

 **Hour Thirty-Four**

"We're near."

"I'm scared."

"It is beautiful."

"Easy for you to say, you know the place."

"I was scared too."

"That's what I like to hear."

"What if they don't like me?"

"Right. They'll love you."

Merante—always knows what to say.

 **Hour Thirty-Five**

"What if we see Michelle?"

"Why are you so worked up? Russia is enormous. What are the odds?"

"Yes… What are the odds?"

"If we do see her, I'll introduce you."

"Will you hold my hand?"

"If you want me to."

"Okay, maybe no. I'm not ready for that step."

"Okay."

 **Hour Thirty-Six**

We step out the train, Merante ahead with a briefcase in his hand and my hand on the other to help me down.

"So this is what holding your hand feels like." He smirks.

"You devil you. Sneaky boy you are."

And then he lets go.

"C'mon, we have to get our luggage. It's over there."

And we're in Russia. It's a different kind of busy in the city. France is a different kind of busy too. It may look like there are a lot of people, maybe because this is the train station and my legs are killing me and I need more oxygen than that from the train. This is good new stuff.

Merante

 _"I think we have to stay away from away from each other."_

 _"You're a bad liar, my love."_

 _"Yeah, I know."_

 _"I still adore you."_

 _"That, I also know."_


	13. Chapter 13

Odette

"You know… I forgot… You never really stayed in France… Did you?"

He looked at me. He stood still as a statue.

"Yeah, you _were_ in Russia. Back at the train. I mentioned that you knew your way around Russia, I forgot that you weren't, but then you answered me in a heartbeat, and then I said 'tell me about Russia' and you never corrected me."

Silence and then he nods.

"What else are you keeping from me?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry I lied."

And then silence.

"I'm starving."

"C'mon, there is this apartment I own, we could crash in there first, get to know the space and then we'll find some place to eat."

"Okay."

We take the cab to A-bunch-of-jumbled-letters Apartment, because I clearly don't know how to spell or pronounce it. Merante could speak some Russian too. I am highly impressed. Not too long, enough to look around, we reach the apartment—Merante pays and we step out.

Merante—kind Merante—carries the luggage, I offer to help but he shuns me away.

"How can you possibly open the door with a lot at hand?"

"I put the luggage down, like this, get the keys" which he does, "Like this and open the door." And he opens the door. "Like that."

Just like that.

"Ladies first."

I enter the apartment first and he turns the light on and all his furniture is covered in cloth—dusty cloth. It's just for the summer and we'll head back to France.

"We would be get to sight-seeing tomorrow before meeting Lucien the following the day. I asked him not to be too excited. I could show you the attractions and maybe have lunch in a personal favorite restaurant of mine."

"Sounds good, Merante."

"It will take a lot of getting used to but it is only for the summer—two months."

"That's an awful long time."

"Nothing beats 10 years."

"Yes but you were pre-occupied for those years."

"And we shall be too."

I nod.

We organize the things we are supposed to organize before settling in for the night—bathroom essentials go in the bathroom, clothes in the closet, and our bags on top of the cabinet. We change the bedsheets and we decide to bathe before having dinner outside.

"I'll check if the water is running. The pump should run smoothly."

He leaves for the bathroom and I hear him turn the faucet on.

"I'll let the rust drain all the way first."

I nod.

"You're quiet."

"Just getting used to the environment. You should have warned me, you were too quiet on the trip. I don't know what to expect."

"Hey, I didn't know what to expect either when I arrived."

"Yes, Merante, but I'm not you and I don't know this place, you're supposed to be my sort-of tour guide, you're not really doing a good job at it."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He kisses my hand after every sorry. "I won't upset you after this. I'll be a good tour guide."

And a scary thought crossed my mind: _Maybe you're too good for me, Merante._

* * *

 **RUSSIA**

 **First Month: Week 1**

"Where are we heading today? Is this Sunday dress too much?"

"Perfect." He smiles at me above the newspaper he's been reading. He's made waffles and coffee. I take the coffee first. "Don't you trust the waffles?"

"I'm trying to kill the headache."

"You could be hungry. You haven't eaten much last night."

"It must be the food. Traveler's Diarrhea. So, where are we heading?"

"There may be a change of plans." I take the waffle. "Lucien cannot wait to see you."

"You sure? Or _you_ cannot wait to see _Lucien_."

"Huh… Never thought about it that way. I'm pretty sure the letter pertained to you."

"He sent a letter?"

"Yes, my love, it's by the table over there."

 _Dearest friend,_

 _You must come visit the opera today._

 _I cannot wait to meet the woman that has been_

 _your favorite topic of discussion._

 _You must._

 _Lucien P._

"You sure it's me?" Michelle crosses my mind.

"Absolutely, my love."

"Okay. Then, afterwards, you take me out to good lunch."

"Absolutely."

I take another waffle.

He sets the newspaper aside and walks to kiss me on the forehead.

"Good morning."

I smile.

* * *

The apartment is just a few walks away, I can see why he specifically chose this apartment. This side of Russia is stricter—in a sense that there are guards everywhere. Obedient citizens. Not a life of fun around this side. How could the opera attract such an audience? Does it ever? There is more of concrete than grass.

Where are the parks?

Where is the attraction?

 _What_ is the attraction?

"We have to pass backstage. I want to surprise him. I haven't written him back yet."

"He better like surprises, Merante."

We enter through the backstage. And I could hear the orchestra. A dress rehearsal maybe? Is there a play tonight? It's been two days since I hit the ballroom, since I wore my ballet shoes—since ballet.

"I've asked Lucien if they had a spare room for your use. So you could practice ballet. There is a piece he wishes to give us—a gift in his remembrance."

"How kind."

"Yes. I had hoped we would at least give him the pleasure of watching you perform."

"We shall see."

Merante walks a bit further back, and there was a dress rehearsal. The ballerinas recognized him at once and flocked around him.

"I didn't know this was the attention he needed."

"Merante!" "Merante!" "It is Merante! He has returned!"

"It is lovely to see you all again." Quite the charmer.

"Will you be staying here? For goof?" _No._

"I'm afraid not. I just wanted to show an important what I have been up to." He looks at me and gestures me to greet the rest of them, "Ladies. This is Odette."

"The ballerina!" "The prima ballerina!" "You are from France, yes? How pretty is it compared to the books?" "Does it give justice?" "Are you both married?"

"Oh uh."

"Ladies. Ladies. Questions shall be entertained after your dress rehearsal. I have to meet Lucien."

"He's among the chair in the audience, he hasn't been too happy since you left. He was upset for a while but he got back on his feet. He's a lot stricter now."

"How long have you ladies known Merante?" I suddenly blurt out. Merante looks at me like I've grown a second head.

"Oh for years, miss. Nine? Eight? Something like that."

"Yes, miss, he was always preoccupied with ballet and teaching."

"And someone else." "HUSH!" The first girl nudged the second, like it was impolite to talk about other girls in front of another.

 _He seemed_ too _preoccupied._ Merante rests his hand on my back but I make sure that it is clear to him that I don't need any of his comfort at the moment. We meet Lucien down the stage and they greet each other with a hug.

"Have you always known Merante would head to Russia and not the south pole of France? Hi, I'm Odette. Pleasure to meet you."

Judging from his expression, he must have not been prepared for that statement following a greeting.

"Uh. No, it was more of a spontaneous trip. Hello, Mademoiselle Odette. Lovely to _finally finally_ meet you."

"How do you do. So, tell me-" "My love, we shall discuss this over lunch."

I fake my sweetest smile and Lucien buys it.

* * *

The two gentlemen are in Lucien's office and Merante "kindly" asks me to wait. So, I do. I have never been more disturbed with Merante in my entire life. Would you call it lying? Or keeping it a secret? He never mentioned Russia in his letters nor Michelle, and all the while I thought he was in France—now that I think about it, it would have been so easy to see me if he were just in another part of France. A decade, how could I have been so stupid not to wonder—not to ask where he actually was.

Right.

I never doubted him.

"Miss."

It was one of the girls from before, the one who was hushed.

"Yes."

"A token of welcome." She handed me flowers. Oh, so beautiful.

"Thank you. I hope you don't mind me asking, but it seems Merante hasn't been giving me the heads up yet. I'm just here on vacation-"

"Oh, you won't be staying here, maam?"

"Just for vacation."

"Pardon me, maam, hoping memory serves me correct, the Master may be planning to reside here, hoping to convince you as well."

"Oh. Well, we never discussed it on the train."

"Huh... Well…It mustn't have been too important for him to have kept it from you. I, too, am sure that he must only be on vacation. He always had his heart in France."

"Thank you."

"Any time, miss."

* * *

"How many times have you had sex with Michelle that it was too painful for you to discuss your recent events here?"

He nearly spits back his water in the glass. We're currently having lunch at a local restaurant, where they serve "very Russian beef", I don't know what the hell that means but it sure hasn't disappointed me.

"You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset, Merante. What else are you keeping me from me? A young lady mentioned that you were planning to stay here—for good."

"Yes, it has crossed my mind before but that's not important right now."

"You better tell me things today because apparently," I slice a bit too rough that it scratches the plate, "Hearing it from others hurts more than I thought."

Merante

 _"I'm sorry."_

 _She turns to face me._

 _"For what?"_

 _"For not telling you things sooner."_

 _Silence._

 _"For not being honest."_

 _"I thought we've gone over this? What's the matter?"_

 _Silence._

 _"Merante, maybe it is alright that you have kept things from me. Maybe it is okay not finding out. And it's okay not to be curious, you know?"_

 _"Yes, but…"_

 _"It's okay. And stop saying sorry, it's not like it's a debt or anything."_

 _"I'm supposed to keep you safe. Keeping things to myself didn't keep you safe."_

 _"And keeping my mouth shut sent me spiraling downward. Not your fault, Merante. Never your fault."_

 _"You know why I hid why I was in Russia from you?"_

 _"My God, Merante, seriously? C'mon, we're way past our prime here."_

 _"The things I've done, I was so afraid you'd leave me."_

 _"I'm still here, aren't I?"_

 _"Yes, but…"_

 _She kisses me and that was all I needed—a reassurance._


	14. Chapter 14

Odette

"We should talk about this."

"THANK YOU!" I throw my hands up in the air. "That is what I want to hear." We sit across each other in his mini kitchen.

"I think it's best if you ask."

"Thank you, Merante. Why didn't you tell me you were in Russia? Why haven't you said anything in the letters? You know how I've been waiting for you to appear in each of my performances. Hell! I was expecting you to appear in my first solo! What happened? Lora and Maurice liked you, you know. Yeah, liked. Until they thought you were a jerk because you just wanted to get in my pants."

"Can we not be mad at each other? It's difficult when you're mad with me."

"I _am_ mad with you, Merante."

"Can we set these emotions aside? Please. I will explain."

Silence then I nod.

"Thank you. _Why didn't I tell you I was in Russia?_ I thought I didn't need to. But yes, I should have, but it seemed like it didn't matter."

"Right, maybe at the time, it didn't but I was upset because all the reason I got from you, why you didn't attend my solos, is… well… nothing, just that you would attend next time. Those were nine 'next times' you know."

"I'm sorry I kept your hopes up."

"Next. When did you decide you wanted to spend the rest of your life here and why drag me in the picture?"

"It's-"

"Other than it is beautiful."

"It would suit you more. The ballet here is advancing. There aren't much ballet masters to teach me back home. And Lucien, well I've been under his brother's tutelage since childhood, and I needed more. I wanted more. I didn't want to stop."

"What made you change your mind?"

"You."

"Cut the crap, Merante."

"No cut crapping. I'm honest here."

"You just like to whisper pretty things in my ear."

"Flowers need to be taken care of."

"I'm not a flower, Merante."

"You are to me and we shall argue about this another time. Let us address the current concern. What else do you have?"

"Why didn't you attend my first solo performance if I was that important to you?"

"First of all, you _are_ important to me."

"That _first_ solo was important to me. It was like my big break. A whole new recognition of what I love doing. I wanted you, of all people, to be there with me. But you weren't."

"I'm sorry. It was hard. Earning money, I mentioned that in my letters. I didn't have enough."

"You also left Michelle out of it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Why did you leave Michelle out of it?"

"She didn't seem important at the time. I mean, she wasn't worth mentioning."

"It seems important now. Are you still writing to her?"

"No."

And I believe him.

"How would you feel if I kept a boy from you and you never found out?"

"I would feel inadequate."

* * *

We were supposed to meet Lucien by the corner before the opera house. They had matters they needed to discuss. I wanted out but Merante wanted me at proximity.

 _"I could stay here."_

 _"Nonsense, I would never leave you."_

 _"You two need catching up."_

 _"It hasn't been long since then."_

 _"It makes me feel out of place."_

 _"Nonsense. I'd prefer you beside me."_

There was no way to say no with his choice of words and the tone of his voice. That's how it was with Merante—he was careful with everything. Here we are, walking towards Lucien, wherever shall we be heading.

"Good morning, Madam Odette."

"Good morning, Lucien."

"Merante."

"Lucien." A little nod there.

"There are some matters to discuss, I believe? Would a café suffice?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

"Please stay."

WHOA. What in the world? I clearly couldn't contain my emotions, I clearly did not hide it either. We've just got settled down a few minutes and this old man throws us in the eye of the hurricane.

"I'm not sure if that's your decision to make, Lucien." I cut in before Merante says something nice.

"I beg your pardon?" Lucien, who also did not hide his shock, gawks at me.

"Yes. We're just here on vacation and Merante, here, tells me of a piece you've been meaning to give to us—as a gift."

"Ah. Vacation. Is that how it is, Merante?"

"I gave some thought about it."

"Would you like more time?"

Now it's my turn to gawk at Lucien. I cannot believe this persistent, old prune. I turn to Merante and find him nodding. I look back Lucien who is, obviously, smirking.

* * *

"HE IS AN OLD FART. I do not believe this. Why didn't you say anything?"

I didn't want to have lunch, dinner, or breakfast with Lucien. So rude. So straightforward. Only I could be straightforward with Merante. We left the café after the biscuits and tea and I asked Merante if I could see bookstores—you all know how that went.

"The bookstore is-"

"I didn't want to go to a bookstore. I wanted to get away from him. I could have smacked him with my flats."

"A bit rude, don't you think?"

"Don't dare talk to me about being rude when he was clearly being a prick back there. And don't dare say that it was rude, when you, in the first place, hid this from me for 10 years. Don't think I dropped this Russia topic because I will never drop it until I have answers."

"You're getting upset easily ever since we landed here."

"Oh trust me, Merante. I have been keeping it in for quite a while. Just keep adding oil to the flame, would you?"

"But I gave you answers. Please be at least considerate and think before hurting others. In fact, you're hurting me."

Silence.

Ugh, crap.

"Okay. I'm sorry, Merante. No more sudden burst of anger. I should have just been a trophy back there. Smile and ignore. I'm sorry. I haven't made a good impression, have I? Did I ruin your career?"

He does that thing again, where he reaches to kiss my hand.

"You are my career. First impressions don't last you know. You could still get to know him."

* * *

 **First Month: Week 2**

You know what, I did get to know Lucien. I learned that he chews loudly. That he, too, is strict—just like Merante. That his students are also afraid of him but respect him. He, kindly enough, allowed me to use one of the spare ballrooms to get on track with my ballet. He also asked if I could give his students a few words of advice regarding technique and precision. Obviously, I said yes. It was the polite thing to do—a payment.

With what was supposed to be alone time for ballet turned to a session. The usual group of ballerinas joined me and watched. They had a few questions about how I became to be a prima and I told them, practice and dedication.

They asked if I ever quit because it may not provide me with what I need, I told them never because I was lucky enough to be under the comfort of family.

While doing one of my routines with three ballerinas, a fourth busts in and, "MICHELLE! SHE'S HERE!"

And right then and there, as the door was ajar, I see a fifth ballerina pulling Merante to, what must be, the direction of where Michelle is. I didn't know what I was feeling.

Then I remembered what Merante said when I asked him how he would feel, "Inadequate."

Yes, that's what I was feeling.

I don't like it.

Merante

 _"There is something I would like to address."_

 _"What is it?"_

 _"I don't think you should be treating Odette that way—up-pup-pup let me finish, I'll hear your complaints after. Yes, I would highly appreciate it if you respected Odette the way you, may, respect your superiors. And by a far margin, because of your rude treatment, you are the most inferior on the food chain."_

 _"Such heavy words, Merante, I think you're threatening the wrong person, this has nothing to do with your affair with the maid."_

 _"It is not an affair, I have you know I have been in love with her since your sorry bottom stepped foot back inside this opera."_

 _"At least I could walk fine on my two legs. How about Odette's by the way? Can she still dance? Can she still pirouette? What was that thing she loved to do? Ballet? How's that going for her?"_

 _I never hated a woman so badly in my life._


	15. Chapter 15

Odette

"Miss Odette, shall we introduce you to Michelle?"

 _No_ would be what I want to say but I just nod. The three ballerinas pull me to where the fifth ballerina headed and we are brought to the foyer—an entrance hall. The fifth ballerina together with Merante and Michelle are there.

"Michelle! Michelle!" That was the fourth ballerina

"Hello, my darling." _Whoa_. Her voice sounds like the shy type—it sounds so… gentle. So careful. No hint that she's ever strained her voice, and she's a teacher. I wonder if the whole room goes silent upon entering. I wonder if they stop to stare before standing up to greet her. She sounds like a mother trying to calm down a crying infant. That's what she sounds like. The careful vocal counterpart of Merante.

The four ballerinas gather to hug her. And there is Merante, not taking his eyes off her—like I wasn't there at all.

"Michelle. This is Odette." One of the three ballerinas I was with pulls me closer to their circle.

"Hello." I smile.

"You must be the prima ballerina Merante has been talking about." She lets out a hand and I shake it.

"I guess so, unless he knows other primas around here." And then there goes my nervous laugh.

"I think you're the only one he talks about." She turns to Merante. "Right?"

He nods.

"I would love if you'd show us some of your routines before you head back to Paris." _So she is aware that we're only here for vacation._

"Maybe. Maybe."

And she smiles—and I wonder how Merante couldn't have fallen in love with her.

* * *

They take a break from their rehearsal and I take a break from my practice, we all meet at the opera's café. Merante sits beside me and Michelle is across him, five ballerinas and a few more are on the other side of the table. Lucien joins us not after long and sits across me—who is beside Michelle.

What else could we be possibly talking about other than Michelle's presence?

"Michelle, how wonderful of you to drop by!"

 _See?_

I feel Merante's hand on top of mine and he gives it a squeeze—am I that tense?

"Yes, I heard from one of the girls that Merante" _and Odette_ "was in town. I just had to see him." _And Odette_. "Of course, based from our last conversation, not too long ago, that he would bring someone along." And then she smiles at me. And then smiles at Merante. She is such the princess. "I didn't expect you to be here so soon, Merante. What changed your mind?"

 _This. I am dying to hear._

"Change of plans."

"Same old Merante."

"I thought that this was an opportunity for Odette and me, seeing that the ballet is advancing and in France, it sort of got stuck." I wanted to defend France, say that we appreciated culture and that we preserved it. Not that we're scared of change. "We hoped to bring more culture in ballet to France. That is my agenda for this vacation."

 _Really?_

"We should give Odette a tour. How about tomorrow? I could take the day off."

"How about university?" That was Merante.

"There are always substitutes. This is a special occasion." And there, she smiles again, and it's like I'm not supposed to be part of this conversation.

* * *

"You guys need catching up."

"Please. She offered to be your tour guide." He's kneeling beside me as I flip through the newspaper—as if I could understand a freaking Russian word. I'm just scanning for English words.

"More like she wanted to date you."

"You're talking crazy again. Please. For me."

"I better not."

"She's going to be upset."

"Yeah because I'll be third-wheeling."

"She will be third-wheeling. And what are you doing with that newspaper? Stop stalling and dress up because we're heading out."

"I feel like I'm not supposed to be wherever you guys are."

"Please."

"I'm staying."

"Please."

"Why? Are you afraid something will come up?"

"Stop being paranoid, is it wrong that I'd want you part of this life of mine?"

Silence. I put down the newspaper-that-I-couldn't-understand.

"Give me ten minutes."

* * *

"You're beautiful."

I put on my sun hat and I better be damn prettier for him. And there is Michelle, early, at the meeting place—in her pretty, corset-containing dress, butt-enlarging, gothic look with a hat that matches her eyes. _Wow_. You would have thought she was princess. When she turns and sees us, she lifts her dress, making sure the hem doesn't stain of dirt, and walks towards us.

And I say it before Merante even thinks of it. "You're very pretty."

"You really stand out, Odette." She says.

A compliment for a compliment.

"Are you both fond of paintings?"

"Ah. An art gallery." Merante.

"Merante isn't fond of art." Michelle.

"Ballet is art." Me.

"It is." Merante and Michelle. And they both look at each other and laugh conservatively.

"An art gallery would be lovely."

"We could catch some impressionism, some portraits, there is really good painter, I've come across some of his work and it is breath-taking." Smart Michelle. Makes me want to turn back time and just study, something impressive other than heading to ballet right after. I could have thought of a more impressive career, something that would have taken me in the long run, and talk of terms like "impressionism".

Lovely, Smart Michelle. How can Merante not be head over heels for her?

"There is an art gallery quite a few walks away, shall we take the carriage?" Michelle was walking ahead of us but, for some inexplicable timing, the wind wants to show off her beauty. _I do not believe this_. The wind catches her hair and the way she holds her hat in place, from what I can hear in Merante's head, _breath-taking._

"Walking is fine." Merante.

"Okay." Michelle smiles again, "You don't mind if I lead the way do you?"

"Not at all." Merante. I make sure she walks a couple of meters up ahead.

" _How did you not inform me that your ex-lover looks like a Russian princess?"_ I exclaim in a whisper.

"Well, she's not a princess, but she is Russian."

 _"You are ridiculous. I stand out as a maid if I am next to her."_

"You're harsh on yourself, you are beautiful."

 _"I think she is beautiful."_

"I think she would appreciate that more."

 _"Oh cut my throat, the closest insult we'll get is a bash of compliments."_

"I'm glad you find her beautiful."

 _Very beautiful._

* * *

It's a one-floor art gallery in a quiet street. Where the art gallery resides, you could see a painter in a room beside it—painting a beautiful woman. She is looking at the painter, there is a table with fruits and skull, and the painter is in a loose shirt and pants full of dabs of paint. A brush in hand and he looks at the woman and back at the board for a few times before touching his brush on the board.

"They're lovers." Michelle tells me.

"Really?"

"Yes. Not married but lovers."

"The husband?"

"Clueless."

 _Oh_.

"C'mon, entrance is this way. This is actually his art gallery."

"The painter?"

"The husband."

"Oh."

And as we enter the room, all pictures of her—in pretty dresses. Dresses of different colors. Paintings of her face. Paintings of her just looking out the window. And at the center of it all—a painting of the woman and her husband, the husband with lips straight and the woman in an almost-smile. On the other side of the gallery, more paintings of her, half naked—a cloth covering her chest and her back half-way turned to the painter.

"Is it the same painter?" I look to find Michelle but clearly they're too preoccupied. I look for the signature of the painter at the corner of the painting and compare it with the others. _The same one_. _The same painter_. And their history has never made me curious. Does the husband know? _Probably not_. _Otherwise he may have chosen a different painter._ How good is he a painter to have at least 4 paintings a year? The large portrait—the one at the center of the gallery—must have taken an awful long time. But during that year, he's made two paintings. The second one, is the one with a cloth against her chest.

Must he have fallen in love with her after the painting at the center? Or must he have figured that he was, all this time, in love with her?

I look back at Merante and Michelle.

 _Must he?_

"Hello."

I turn to the voice and it is the painter.

"Oh. Hello."

"You're the prima ballerina."

 _Crap_. "Uh yes, yes I am."

"My niece. She adores you. She's shown me a photograph of you. But, clearly, the photo didn't do justice."

"Would you like to paint me?" Of course I said it as a joke. And he just smiled. _What is it with Russians and their beautiful smiles? What is it with Russians and "beautiful"? It is like it's meant to be together._

"I would love to. But I have a commission at the moment."

"A _long line_ of commissions." I look at the painting I'm currently standing in front of. "Your muse. She is beautiful, like a fairy."

"Yes. But she is not for me." I could hear his heart breaking. "I'm Jan."

 _Jan_. "Odette." He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles.

"Lovely to meet you, Odette. I have to get back to my portrait."

"Of course." We look at each other of a while before he exits the damned gallery.

"Odette." It was Merante.

"Oh my Lord, you've met the painter." Michelle.

 _Jan the Painter_.

"Yes."

"You're flushed." I think I hate Michelle now. I absentmindedly touch my face and then I remember tainted knuckles. "Wasn't he enchanting?"

"Yes." Because apparently that is the only thing I could say at the moment.

* * *

"All I got of his name are his initials. _._ " Michelle dreamily says as I drink from the juice I ordered.

"We've never gone past the stage of hi and hello, other than he recognizes me because of his niece."

"Did you ask you if he wanted your portrait?"

"Actually I wanted my portrait."

"No." Michelle says it like it is scandalous, that I've committed adultery.

I raise my eyebrows as a yes.

"We're not going back there." Merante. Michelle and I look at Merante.

"We haven't been to the second gallery. It's assorted you know. His current muse is just the first part." Michelle.

"You know I don't like art galleries."

I could almost hear him say, _I don't want him painting you_.

* * *

"You found out his name did you?" We're back at his apartment. Michelle couldn't be with us tomorrow because she has an important lecture to attend but she promises us that in a few days we'd look at more attractions in the country. For a second, I was hoping that I would see Jan as we continued on with this tour.

"Yes." I comb my hair. "It was the normal thing to do."

"You do know we won't be here for long."

"I'm sorry." I place the comb on the drawer a little too hard and face him, "It is like you're assuming I would be having an affair with him. _And then hide it from you_."

"Just making it clear to you… and reminding you."

"It's not like I gave him the address of your apartment nor the opera. You better calm down. I wanted to stay here, in the apartment, in the first place so don't blame me if a few locals recognize me."

"Right. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."


	16. Chapter 16

Odette

 **First Month: Week 3**

"Good morning." Merante kisses to rouse me awake. "Breakfast on the table."

"Who are we meeting today?"

"Nobody. I just thought you know, instead of being trapped her, stuck with me, you'd want to head out."

I jolt up quicker than I should, blackening my peripheral vision. "You serious?" I think of the art gallery.

"You sound excited." I watch him take a sip from this cup, of what must be coffee and then he nods.

"But I don't know where to go."

"I'm pretty sure you."

 _And I do_.

* * *

"What if I get lost?" I'm put on my sun hat and head to the door of his apartment.

"You won't. Your instincts are as good as mine, and if they fail you, you could always ask around. People are friendly to foreigners, most especially the guards."

"What if I get raped?"

"Pretty sure you'll scare them away with your questions."

"You're not funny."

The second I catch him smile and change my mind, I head out the door.

* * *

I don't know how to go to the gallery. I trace our steps from last week to where we met Michelle—which I successfully do and force my brain to recall familiar landmarks. Smell. Color. Customers. Anything. Grass marking or scratches of buildings. After, from what seems like an hour, I reach the gallery. I look for the painter and he's not where he used to be. I walk inside and I find him standing in, most likely, a new piece.

"New painting?" He looks at me.

"Odette." He smiles. He's in his painter clothes—loose shirt, stained-from-paint pants, messy bed hair. "Yes, it is a new painting. From when you first visited the gallery."

"Does your muse pay you?"

"Yes, and I have donations from visitors. It's a living that would suffice."

I look at the new painting with him. It is his muse again, she was actually sitting and there is the skull and fruits on the table, the same as I pictured it, at the brightest of day. "She's beautiful, Jan."

"Yes."

We're looking at each other and I really look at him— lazy blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, jawline curving perfectly downward like God saying _let this man be as beautiful as Adonis but as his darker personality counterpart_ , fair skin but you could see the age of staring at beautiful women across his face, and you could appreciate him as a model himself.

"What's wrong?"

" _Shit_."

Not before long, after a bit of cursing God for carving this man, our lips crash and his kisses are as beautiful as his mouth. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ Is it really possible to just look at someone and want to do sinful things? It's not like I'm committing adultery, it's not like he is, (is he?). I don't know where I should focus my attention, this event, his hands, or our mouth? _Oh_.

After thinking too much, we stumble in a room that smells like paint. Must this be his room? Is this where he usually sleeps? With his muse? By himself? With every beautiful girl he sees? _Oh_.

"So, tell me, is this where you trap ladies like myself before throwing them to the ocean?" (I could feel him removing layers and layers of cloth expertly.)

"Pretty sure they never returned." (I help him untie my corset, blasted things of oppression.)

"Pretty sure a few would." (More kisses.)

"Pretty sure you would." (More exploring.)

Once I'm stripped from all forms of oppression he grabs me by the legs and swings me on a bed that I had no idea was in here because it is hella pitch black. More kisses and less thinking of Merante and Michelle and how perfect they look together.

* * *

"Did I do a bad thing?" I could smell the paint in the room again.

"What do you mean?"

"I may be involved with someone."

"How involved?"

"We've had sex but he's more committed to me than I am committed to him."

"I think I'm the bad influence."

"You know, there is something about paint and painters with lazy blue eyes that led me to this event."

"I have lazy blue eyes?"

"Yes."

There must have been something I said that made us go round two.

* * *

We didn't know how hungry we were until he asked me if I wanted to eat somewhere. We settle in an affordable restaurant, it doesn't sell that "very Russian beef" but this is good.

"I have come across some very intriguing news." I pair up the mashed potato and steak.

"Oh? Like what?"

"You have a lover."

"I am proud and ashamed." I take a bite.

"And does she feel the same way?"

"She is not ashamed and not proud."

"Opposites do attract." Another bite.

"She's very loyal to her husband, or too scared to leave him. Either way, we've talked about leaving despite him, most likely, finding out about it and finding her."

"What happened?"

"It is still our subject of discussion but haven't had a proper conversation. Her husband is too busy keeping her."

"I think that's how it's supposed to be."

"She too young for him. Like father and daughter young."

"Oh. Scandalous."

"It's common around here. Most of the fellows think highly of you."

"Huh. I didn't know pedophilia was a trend here."

"Yeah. It happens. So, what's your story?" It's his turn to bite his sandwich.

"I'm here on vacation but my companion may be thinking otherwise, we haven't discussed it yet. And there's this tiny hatred I am holding due to a discussion we previously had on the train heading here. That he's been seeing someone. Anyway, we go all the way back and we communicated through letters, all the while I thought he was in another part of France but then he wasn't. He was actually here. So, we moved our discussion to him falling in love while he was here. And he did. And yesterday I was with them. So, from what was meant for the other girl to third-wheel, I became the third-wheel. And here I am, with you."

"You sound like you regret it."

"Are you kidding me? It feels good to have sex with someone else other than him."

"Rebellious prima you are."

"Yes. Let us toast our glasses of water."

"To our miserable fates."

"To our meeting."

And we toast.

* * *

"Don't you have to get back to your commission?"

"It can wait. Besides, you're more interesting than I thought."

"I'm just a ballerina with issues."

"I haven't met a ballerina, all the more one with issues."

We're by the pier at the hour where the sun is set mid-way. There is the not-so useful barrier, something you can walk on, something you can sit on as well, one slip or a misstep you could fall to your death. And there I was, messing with the Grim Reaper.

"I don't think we've introduced each other properly." I face him, I was a lot of inches taller than him due to the fact I am standing on concrete. He faces me.

"I think we've had more than our fair share of introductions." And there it goes, a flashback of this morning.

I smile. He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles.

"I'm Jan. A messed up painter."

"I'm Odette. A ballerina with issues."

I don't know what else I said to him that made him pull me towards him, catching me in his arms (it also happens too fast because he is carrying me at mid-fall with my feet on the concrete barrier) and our mouths crashing, again. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck. We break.

 _"Wow."_

"Yeah. Wow."

"We should stop saying things that trigger us to kiss each other."

"Yeah."

* * *

The damn painter walks me home because he claims that are a lot of creeps that wonder around at night. He also tells me not to walk around on my own at night and that my male companion (Merante) shouldn't have let me wondering off.

 _"I'll keep that in mind. Do not wonder off on my own."_

 _"You should have a companion."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Or me."_

 _"Or you."_

 _"Yes."_

 _Silence._

 _"Shall we bump into each other at the gallery tomorrow?"_

 _"Don't hope too much."_

 _"Yes."_

Before entering Merante's apartment, the damn painter pulls me in for another kiss before heading back. And, right now, a huge part of me wants to chase him and wrap ourselves around in the smell of paint.

"My love."

This has been probably the most regretful thing I have done. It wasn't a mistake, this meeting and spending this day with Jan. I regret not informing Merante any of this, I didn't give him a heads up. Am I just getting back at him? No. I couldn't be. It just happened. Meeting Jan just happened. But as soon as I enter his apartment, and he's there, waiting with the same endearment hanging in the air, and I'm here acting like I haven't done things I shouldn't.

"Merante."

"Welcome back."

I feel myself breaking to a million pieces.

"I'll just change."

"Did you have fun?"

"Russia. It's wonderful once you see it for yourself."

"Yes."

I enter the bathroom and open the closet for a change of clothes. But there is something else I catch—a piece of clothing under his pile, what a coincidence is this. How cliché. It's like fate's been messing with me throughout this whole trip. It's like fate wants me to find out that there is still something going on between Merante and Michelle.

And there is something going on with me as well.

But I ignore it because I've done something terrible along the way as well.


	17. Chapter 17

Odette

"You know this is slowly becoming into a daily thing. You're going to break my heart when you leave." (I'm back in this God-forsaken paint-smelling room. We've pushed past the hi and hello. Maybe, we did a little bit of greeting.

 _"I thought I-" And I just pull him to kiss me._

 _"Yeah. I thought so too." I pull away breathless. "There's just something I discovered and you know."_

 _"Yeah, I know. Okay.")_

"So," (I tear his first layer of shirt off him) "Two days ago, right, when I came back from our little tour (He's already starting with the corset, "Uh-huh, yeah?") I caught a little piece of clothing that neither belongs to us." (This corset is taking a lot longer than I thought.)

"Maybe it's his?" (Corset. Done.)

"Would you wear ladies garments?"

"Would it fancy you?" (I remove my first layer of cloth, why are there so many layers.)

"Jan the painter, I didn't know you were into that stuff. Anyway, (I go for his second shirt and pull it off him. His torso though and that collarbone too.) I am almost sure it is hers."

"Did you confront him?" (He's got my stockings at work.)

"Of course not. We're not that stupid. If I say something, he'll say something. We're not ready for that level of confrontation yet."

"When will you be?" (He's already so eager but he still wants to keep the conversation going.)

"I have a feeling the time is soon."

"Well then, I better get to it before I'm torn away from the picture." And he's already at where I want him to be.

Jan was different with his hands and the way he held me—he was a different kind of careful. Merante is still a bit rough around the edges but he still found a way for me to succumb. Jan. Oh man, was he different. He would keep me on a different level of high and he'd take it all away with one swift movement and we'd be back at it again.

At one point, where I like what was doing with his hands, the bastard struck a conversation, like I would be able to answer him properly, "Have you ever thought about what would happen if he found out?"

 _Oh_. _He should stop what he is doing first before I could answer him._ "I never… thought… about that. _Jan.._." And he's back at the thing he does with his tongue. Which Merante has never done, and I'm sort of liking this.

* * *

"I have to get back to my painting. His Sir wants me to paint her at night." He moves some hair across my face behind my ear.

"Oh, morning, noon, and night kind of thing?"

"Yeah." Our faces are so close to each other we could practically kiss. And I sort of want us too. "It's going to be a pretty long commission this time."

"How long?"

"A week or so. The moon moves every night so I can't actually get the full image, the lighting across the room is going to be different as well."

"How about during mornings?" I need to see him more.

"Don't you have ballet? Isn't there a piece that would be handed to you? You need your ballet."

"Right."

"Come back in a week? This could be a huge break for me. Some of these paintings may be up for auction, although I have to do some details with my muse's face, His Sir doesn't want the flaunting that much especially if he wishes it to be sold."

"Okay. I'll come back in a week. I need two more rounds from you."

"That's a lot of work."

"I'll do the second one." I'm already straddling on his torso.

* * *

The following day, the struggle is so real when I do not see that painter. My poise has been off and my mind is all over the place. The ballerinas asked me a few times if I was alright or if the weather was messing with my head. "Not at all, loves, it's just not home."

First.

Second. Third.

Fourth Position. Resting fifth.

There is this native music I find that would suit my routine. Russian music has a bit of anger to it, it's faster and rougher and you need to be smart and quick with the routines if you want to impress your audience. I think this is what Russian Ballet has that France doesn't. Anger and movement. Twirling. More twirling. More balance.

Do I need to look gothic?

I need more leg movement. And my arms need to extend some more, it needs to extend.

"That's new." Merante.

"Merante. Hi. Yes. Yes it is." I'm breathless and I have my hands on my hips because I feel like my lungs are going to explode out my rib cage. "The music is new. I just need to pair it up with more routines, more leg movement."

"It's not pretty music."

"Yes, it's different. I feel like my ballet has matured. I'm lacking all that stretching." I grip on the bar and stretch my legs. "What have you been up to? Is Michelle around?"

"Oh, well, I've been with Lucien, helping out with your piece. He was hoping you'd perform a segment—this is for next week's play. It's a bit of rush, and he says it is okay if it's too much in a sense it's too urgent, he wouldn't mind."

"Oh no no no, give me. I'll do it. It's the least could do."

"Oh really? I'll tell him, and Michelle isn't here at the moment. Maybe we'll be meeting her tomorrow."

"Oh okay, sure." I turn my back against him and stretch some more. I hear him leave the room and there goes the tears.

"Miss. Miss. Are you alright?" I didn't hear her entering the room.

"Yeah. Stupid fast music."

* * *

We have dinner with Lucien at his place. He's got pasta for the main course and chocolate cake for dessert. "Merante, my brother, you've been under his teaching. How is it?" _Sibling rivalry?_ I chew on my food and avoid looking sideways from Merante to Lucien.

"He's different but I learned a lot."

"I see. And you, Miss Odette, how did you become the ballerina you are today?"

"Dedication."

"And you were under whose care?"

"The opera house. There were a lot who taught me actually, I had to jump from one ballet master to another. Each has different styles."

"Oh. And how do you find Russia's?"

"I'm on my own." I smile and take another fork of pasta.

"Amazing. Brilliant." I am so proud of myself at the moment. "I hope you don't mind, but I have invited Michelle for dinner, she would be arriving in a bit, after her lecture." I nearly choke.

"Not at all." Of course it's Merante who answers.

"But it would seem she has other plans in mind. There is this open house somewhere along the way. Live instruments, sort of like a band. One of her students are hosting it, she would appreciate it if we could attend."

"Of course, we should go." I smile.

Not before long, Michelle rings the bell and I am at my last slice of cake.

"We could back out, if you're tired, my love."

"I stand my ground. We are going. It's good to hear something other than classical music."

"Yes, I suppose." And then squeezes my hand.

"You ready lovebirds?" Michelle, radiant as ever.

"Let's go."

* * *

It's a bar. A place where they sell some sort of beverage for men. Beer. I think that is what it is. More of the bitter than the quality. There is a mic on stage and yes, instruments are on stage as well.

"Drinks?"

The men order beer and I like my water and sober-self. I ask where the restroom is and Michelle directs me to "the right corner of the room facing this way". Ah, lovely. I see the sign "Ladies." The place being a bit packed you're bound to knock someone's drink off their grip.

Ah. And I do.

" _Oh God_. I'm sorry. I'll pay for-"

"Huh, rebellious prima."

 _Jan the painter_.

"Did we just bump into each other?" " _Jesus Christ_."

He laughs his annoying after-sex laugh. "No. Jan, remember?"

 _Oh cut me._ "Yes, I'm afraid that we have bumped into each other." _Oh uh Christ_. "Uhm, your drink. Let me pay for that, please."

"No, it's okay, refillable. Are you with anybody?"

"Yes, I'm with _you know_ and Lucien, a ballet Master."

"Oh do introduce me."

" _Are you asking for a death wish?_ " I try to sound as calm as possible and that he did not just ask that.

"I'm with His Sir, I'm pretty sure he's preoccupied with whoever is on his lap."

"There's _that_ action here?" I watch him set the now-empty glass on the place where they serve drinks, the bartender asks for a refill and Jan shows the tab and his drink is refilled.

"Pretty sure."

"God, I thought this was for kids."

"His nephew is performing on stage." He grabs the drinks.

"Oh, funny, he must be a student of _hers_."

"Huh, small world. Hey, listen, I'm guessing you were heading to the restroom, I'll leave you to it, I'll bring this back to His Sir and we could meet here and you'll introduce me. Yeah?" Before I could protest he's already on his was to His Sir and, true enough, he does have someone on his lap. _Ugh. Pig_. I head to the restroom.

I feel like such a girl. I make sure my hair is up and neat in all corners. My dress is straightened and not a stain of whatever drink Jan was holding. My cheeks are flushed enough. And I smell alright. I meet Jan outside and we walk to my table.

" _Oh my Lord._ " That was Michelle. "You're the painter."

"That's Michelle, this is Merante." I watch them shake hands, "And Lucien."

"Sir Petipa, it is an honor to finally meet you. I have watched a few of your plays, my niece is a fan."

"Huh. Pleasure is all mine." He must be so proud of himself too. I could already hear Jan say, _so his name is Merante and she must be your replacement._

"It was lovely to meet you all, thank you, for stopping by the gallery last week, there will an auction for some of the portraits next week, please drop by." He turns to look at me and we look at each other for what must be the longest second of my life. Add the fact that our knuckles stupidly brush against each other. It's ridiculous that it send sparks up my spine.

"Where did you find him?" Michelle, intrigued as ever.

"Ugh, while I was heading to the restroom. I knocked his drink off his hand. It's so crowded back there. It's ridiculous."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow." Merante. I could sense the irritation in his voice but I know they're playing footsies under the freaking table.

* * *

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Here it goes. He's been quiet throughout the whole ride, we drop Michelle off first because her place was the nearest and I could see that she brushed her lips against his. It was quick but I saw it. Lucien was talking all the way because it seems the beer has intoxicated him.

"I don't know. Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. I saw the way that painter looked at you." Merante is really mad right now.

"He's a painter because there is always something in the way he looks. Have you seen him paint his muse? That's a lot of staring."

"Would you rather be his muse?"

"The thought has crossed my mind. Where is this attitude coming from? He just looked at me, so what? A lot of people look at me. On stage. On the foyer. During my practice. People look at you too, across the street. They recognize you too."

"That is not the point. There was lust in his gaze."

" _LUST?_ You are unbelievable, Merante, I am not having this conversation with you." I want to tell him that Michelle has been hiding her clothes under his pile in the closet but I feel that I may use it the next minute.

"Well?" His voice is stern but his pitch doesn't change. How mad is he? "Where have you been the past few days? Were you really exploring Russia or other places?" And I have had enough.

"I'm sorry, I thought you gave me the luxury to explore this damn country and you throw me this attitude."

" _You better goddamn tell me where you have been before I begin to lose my mind and God knows what!"_

" _WHY!?_ Are you going to hit me? Or are you going to insert yourself in _her_ stockings instead? Don't play innocent with me I could smell the sex across the table at the bar and don't get me started with her garments lying under your clothes in the bathroom, you think I didn't see it, well, you both aren't exactly good at hiding. Hypocrite."

" _I'VE BEEN SO GOOD TO YOU, ODETTE!_ " And then I hear his heart breaking.


	18. Chapter 18

Odette

 **First Month: Week 4**

I don't remember how I ended back in Jan's stupid cramped room. _God, why does it always smell like paint here!?_ I'm practically screaming in my head. Merante and I had this big, stupid fight and before my senses kick in, I'm storming out, at freaking midnight, in the hopes of not getting lost, raped, or worse, killed—also in hopes that Jan is still in his stupid cramped room that smells like paint. And when he opened that door, he didn't say anything, we didn't do anything.

"This is stupid. You know I can't always go to you for pity sex. You know that right?" I face him.

"I know and I also think that is your decision to make. Why'd you think I didn't do anything? I'm all ears for you, Prima."

"So, we confronted."

"No way."

"Yes way. So, it was confrontation in the worst possible way. There was shouting and more confrontation. He said he's been so good to me (Jan whistles) Yeah, right. And maybe he has been, after not seeing me for ten years and basically hiding what else from me."

"He could have had children with her. Ten years is a long time."

"You better stop right there before I take the next train to France." And he holds my arm.

"I'm kidding. I'm kidding." And he kisses the crease on my forehead. "Do continue your tale."

"So, I told him, after he told me that he's been so good to me, that keeping me company for a train ride, asking if I was hungry throughout the journey, good sex, careful words, and his endearments doesn't count as being so good to me. Hell, it does even make up for the decade he's been keeping Michelle from me, oh hell, it doesn't even make up for their stupid footsies under the stupid table at that stupid bar!" I'm losing my mind. I've lost it. I'm tired of screaming. I'm running out of breath. Sooner or later, I won't feel my left arm and then I'll have a heart attack.

"Was his sex really that good?"

"He doesn't do that thing with the hands and the tongue that well, so it's just good. I'm on my toes but you make my legs shake. Why are talking about whether or not he is good on bed? We hate him right now. I hate him."

"Jeez. Okay. Okay."

"You know how this only supposed to be a vacation. I'm supposed to enjoy the damn two months and now I just want to head back home and I'd be totally fine leaving him here."

"And never come back."

We look at each other for a while.

"Yeah." I say in a whisper. The thing with Jan, I may be breaking his heart, and this he's said a few times, but I don't hear it.

"Do you want to do footsies under the table?" Now that, I crack up to.

"Your ridiculous, Jan."

"C'mon let's try it." He sits up and he pulls me towards a tiny corner where, surprisingly, is able to have a table and two chairs occupy it. It's so cramped it is as if we're just sitting beside each other and the table is just for display.

"It's not really that comforting to only have one layer of cloth above my skin. I'm actually quite delicate."

"Such a flower you are. You want me to initiate the footsie?"

"This is ridiculous. This is revenge in the pettiest way and our target is not even here."

"Do you want to do footsies where he can see? Should I paint our feet for it?"

"You're even crazier than I thought."

"It must be the paint."

"What is it with paint and lazy blue eyes?"

But we just sit there, across each other.

"Is it weird that looking at you is arousing?" I whisper.

"It depends. Is it?" I feel his hand move to my knees, and it's moving closer under the hem towards sections of my leg where it's not supposed to, parts where he could touch my skin so much better. Again, we're not supposed to because he's here to listen.

"If this is how Michelle must be feeling every time she looks at him, then damn, they could have taken it to the bathroom."

"You do know I'm just messing with you, right?" And there goes his stupid smirk. I curse under my breath and I don't know how flushed I am.

"We could be addicted to this type of pleasure. Is that bad? God is going to punish us."

"For a painter, you talk too much."

"Well, don't you have issues?" When he takes me to a certain level of high, I'm already on his lap, his hands on my waist, and our mouths together from talking too much.

* * *

"Jan. I think we are addicted."

"It could get worse."

"It must be the paint."

"And my lazy blue eyes."

"Yes."

* * *

"Do you want to take me out on a date tomorrow?"

"What about your lover boy?"

"I could last another day without him. I'm more interested in you at the moment. He, too, is more interested in someone else."

"Uhm, I have a painting to finish."

"You said at night."

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Oh, alright. The painting can wait. God, what are you doing to me? You're a bad influence."

"A bad influence for being so badly influenced."

* * *

I am forced to leave Jan to his painting because His Sir is not satisfied with his progress. I promise to meet him after one week—just as we originally discussed. From what seems like forever, I find my way back to Merante's apartment unannounced— because I didn't have time to write a freaking letter announcing my arrival.

I unlock the door and I find her pretty naked back facing me and they are humping on a chair. Yes, humping, like the dogs they are. They clearly don't hear my arrival from their moaning and screaming and since their eyes are closed, that is one main sensory system down. I wait for a bit until the "some more", "please", "Oh Merante", and "faster" were too much to handle. I open the door a little bit more and shut it as loud as possible. And they stop and turn to me. "Odette."

"Please, Merante, save it. I've been standing here for a good amount of time, please continue, she's already at the climax. Why'd you stop?"

"Odette." Michelle gets off him and collecting her clothes. "I thought."

"Yeah, I thought I wouldn't be back sooner either. You thought you would finish up and clean almost all evidences, well I'm sorry I arrived sooner than you thought. Should I have sent a letter? How many more minutes do you need? For Christ's sake, Merante, cover yourself."

And he puts on his pants.

"I'll give you, Michelle, one minute to dress up before I drag you outside. Starting now." She's a lot quicker in dressing up than I thought and she sees her way out of the apartment.

"I thought you wouldn't come back." He says after a while.

"Yeah, I was supposed to catch the next train to France."

"What made you come back?"

"Jan had to finish painting." Finally mentioning his name for the first time.

"You've been messing around with the painter?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to keep it a secret?"

" _I KNEW IT! How dare you, while we were here! Together!"_

"Excuse me!? Which one of us was caught humping someone else? And with the door unlocked, really, you could have been better than this. And you and I are not together. May be you dragged me here so you could feel if there was still some spark between you two, may be you dragged me here so you would have given an option for yourself, a little game of _who do I love more_. Even for you, Merante, that is so low."

Silence.

"I don't understand, we could have worked this out. I could have worked this out for us."

"You've been treating me like an anchor, Merante. This whole trip was for your sake. What do you really want?"

"I want my feelings for Michelle to go away!"

" _THEN WE SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!"_

 _"I was supposed to talk it out of her!"_

 _"YEAH!? Talk it out? Which part of her moaning and groaning was talking it out?! She sure let out something else other than feelings. More like you wanted the feelings to stay!_ She must have been really good to you to have you beg her for more."

"Please don't do this, Odette, please."

"Do you honestly think I would shrug it off? You don't know me at all do you."

" _Help me!"_

I'm taken aback. I was definitely not prepared for this.

 _"Help me, please."_

"We take the train back to France tomorrow. This is getting out of hand. We shouldn't have been here in the first place. You go to Michelle right now. Say what you want to her, do what you want with her because tomorrow, whether you like it or not we're taking the train to France tomorrow. And if you do not show up, I'm leaving without you."

"I'll be there. We'll go home." And he's crying. And now I'm crying.

* * *

I'm back, only I have all my belongings with me, and this might be the last time seeing this gallery and his stupid paint room. And portraits of his beautiful muse with her clueless husband. I pound loudly on the door making sure I stop him from whatever he is doing.

 _"Jesus Christ what the-"_ And we look at each other again. And I realize I'm already crying. He doesn't think twice and pulls me to his arms, and we're legitimately hugging.

"I'm leaving tomorrow." I say after drinking the tea he's served. I look around his tiny room like I haven't been spending half my stay here.

"That bad, huh?" He rests his chin at the base of his palm. I nod.

"It was so bad."

"I'll see you off tomorrow then."

"No, please. You'll only want me to stay."

He reaches for my hand and kisses my palm then rests his cheek against it.

"I can't make you stay a little longer?"

"Your sorry-ass will get into trouble with the delay I've caused."

"Didn't you just kid around yesterday with taking the next train to France? And then just when we've finally agreed to see each other next week, I may not be able to see you at all after today."

"Yeah, it sucks. You've grown on me, Jan the painter, and don't give me something to remember you by."

"I think my fingers and tongue are enough to keep you on your toes."

"You're unbelievable."

"So are you, Odette. So are you."

* * *

"I may head to Netherlands."

I look at him, "Really? Did you just decide this now?"

"No, I've got a letter somewhere in the drawers. Another man in need of my services."

"With a pretty young wife that you will charm off her feet."

"Is that really your impression of me? Stealing young wives of old men?"

"Yes, well, I don't count. I'm unmarried."

"I stole you?"

"You have no idea that you already have. But, I have to leave. I'll turn up when I'm married with an old man. I'll come looking for you."

"Or just remove the 'looking for you' and leave the next two words."

"So this is how you charm these young wives. You have a dirty mouth." And he kisses me hard.

"You know, I'm going to miss you, Prima Ballerina."

We look at each other for a while until I stand up, and I am aware that I'm going to show off some routines I've practiced on before the big fight. I also am aware that I don't have any shoes on but I balance on the base of my toes either way. And he stands and to look at me as I raise my legs, and I bend my leg and jump lowly. I raise my leg and then bend it in an angle it is supposed to and then stretch. And then I twirl. Defying gravity with every pull my leg can offer. And after each second a turn and after my head has spun before a new turn, Jan moves closer and closer.

He stops me from my routine and now we're just standing. Facing each other. Like how lovers are supposed to after they've fought. This is how Merante and I should have been.

"Have I mentioned I love you looking at you?"

"It may have been a bit obvious." I've never been so out of breath.

He kisses me softly where my neck and collarbone meet—that corner right there.

"You know why I'm leaving for Netherlands?"

"Why?" I ask even though I already know the answer.

"Because after this, I'm going to have a hard time moving on from you."

* * *

I'm surprised that Merante is there already.

"I was hoping we'd catch the 9am train heading back." He says once I'm at earshot.

"Yeah, sure." The train arrives a few minutes after and we board. Merante leads us to our coach and we don't talk, we still don't talk when the train's engines start running and the guards are settling everyone down. We still don't talk when he stands up and I watch him go to the restroom and then I look out the window to find Jan there, standing, looking back at me with his goofy smile. I stand up from my seat and my hands are pressed against the window and here come the stupid tears.

And I'm wishing I had his address, anything to remember him by. But I know that's a bad idea because the reason why Merante and I are on the train back to France is get away from this country and the events that tore us apart. To get away from this cruel fate that maybe, just maybe, Jan and I had a reason why we met and that we could have been together, that we were supposed to be together.

As the train roars to life, it starts to move, Jan just stands there even until the trains picks up speed until I couldn't see him because this stupid train won't let me look at his lazy, blue eyes one last time.

Impeccable timing, Merante returns, he doesn't acknowledge my tear-stained face because maybe he saw Jan running towards the station and allowed us to be together even if we really weren't.

 _And God, right then and there, I wanted to stay._


	19. Chapter 19

Merante

 _"Word is out that you've been not_ doing _your job here." She catches me off guard after school hours. It was a habit to stay and be with her—and as creepy as it sounds—to watch her._

 _"And where have you heard that from?"_

 _"Little birds."_

 _Silence._

 _"Merante."_

 _"Yes, my love?"_

 _"I'm okay. Okay? And you do your job. Director would be furious. Think of what—"_

 _"The Director and I are close friends, he won't let me go that easily either. I've brought enough a name to his company, to this opera. Beside, your_ queen _has been serving him the best prime rib in town. So he says anyway. And he's more focused on that dish than this opera."_

 _"I guess."_

 _Silence._

 _"Why can't you get away? Let's get away and leave."_

 _She stops wiping the floor and looks at me like I've said the most ridiculous thing in the world, it could be ridiculous, but it's the least I could offer to her._

 _"Regine. She wouldn't. I couldn't. She—"_

 _"She didn't buy you." I kneel down beside her, take her hand (like I always do), and kiss her bruised knuckles and then her callous palms._

 _"It's not off the table, Merante. It's not soon either."_

 _"Then when? When?"_

 _"I don't know." And she continues cleaning while I continue observing._

Odette

 **Train to France**

We. Don't. Talk.

How could you start a conversation after that horrible month? What are the right words to say after the mess we've been into? On the way to Russia, we had a plan. To have fun, to spend none of the crap that happened. Crap. Crap. Crap. Full of crap. Except Jan, he was special, he was a good distraction.

I. Wasn't. Cheating. Let that just sink in.

I did not cheat on Merante because, one, we aren't even together-together in the first place. Hell! We're not even engaged. I don't even have a goddamn ring around where it's supposed to be.

 _Jesus._

Hour two clocked in and our heads are thick as thieves with giving each other the cold shoulder. We make eye contact a couple of times but I look away.

I can't.

I still cannot look at him.

"Odette." I snap at his direction. "We should. We should talk."

"The floor is yours. I've got all day. Literally." I really should calm down, try to be civil, but. I. cannot. Calm. The. Hell. Down.

"Michelle." He jerked. Like someone electrocuted him. "Well, let me be honest."

 _Yeah because you haven't been._ Okay, self, please. Pay more attention.

"Michelle, she. We." Then he rests his face in his palms. I feel like I should help him. Should I help him construct his reasons properly?

He sighs and then he looks at me.

"Michelle. Damn. We were in love. Apparently, I was still in love. I didn't know. I was stupid. Thinking it would go away. I really thought, Odette. I didn't mean to look for someone else. I didn't mean to keep you hanging like that for so long. It was immature. I thought of telling you, when Michelle and I stepped up a level. I knew it was wrong but then again I didn't because you were far away, you didn't know, I thought you didn't care with your short replies, those replies wherein you _felt like_ writing back. Maybe I've just had enough? And then Michelle, she arrived when I doubted about us.

" _For Christ's sake_ , Odette. We were only hitting puberty. We weren't probably hitting straight. You were puppy love to me then. Michelle, she was a fairytale kind. Almost everything I've looked for in a woman. A wish come true. And then I thought about you, that maybe you were toying with me. But let's get real, you were never really serious with me. We were a phase before puberty. Childish dreams and just hoping we made the right decision to last forever.

"Anyway, you've noticed in my letters, how it got shorter and shorter. But the money to visit you wasn't enough, I wanted to tell you so badly in person, that I've been seeing someone. Maybe I should have sent you a letter. I should have broken the news to you and then maybe you wouldn't believe me, after reading the supposed-letter, you'd think that I was just lying, making up excuses, and that I never really loved you. Oh my _God_ , Odette, I loved you then, I love you now. I still do, believe me even if it is hard to.

"Odette, there are so many regrets I've done the decade we've been apart. I shouldn't have kept you hanging or said stupid empty sweet words. I don't know."

"You were in a pre-puberty phase, Merante. I get it. I—"

"No. You don't. Maybe you do now but 11year old, 15 year old, 18 year old- Odette. She didn't know. I needed to tell you. I was going to drop the bomb when we landed in Russia but you caught me off guard because of my slip of the tongue."

"You clearly slipped your tongue somewhere else." _Girl, stop. Stop._ "I'm sorry, you don't have to acknowledge that, Merante. I'm just upset at the moment. You were saying?"

"Right. Uhm, I'm sorry, Odette. So, I don't know what else to say, do you want details on how, you know. Michelle and I."

I shake my head.

"That thing with Jan." _It was my turn, I guess_. "He was a go-to guy. A summer _freaking_ fling that went a different direction each day. We weren't serious one minute and the next I was thinking that maybe we should be. I was triggered with the events that suddenly unfolded. And _your goddamn footsies. Jesus!_ It's like whispering while someone else is there. Like, you're three around the table and the two across you starting _freaking_ whispering. It drove me mad, Merante. Very rude. You guys could have taken it to the bathroom. Anyway, we were mostly not serious. I could have left with him, you know. But, I was drawn to you, I'm still drawn to you. I was just hurt." I feel my voice shaking and there is this huge lump in my throat. It's like my throat is swelling and I knew that if I kept talking next on the show, waterworks.

Pause.

Composure.

"Merante. 11, 15, 18 year old-me would still be in love with you and forgive you. Sure, I'd rant, I'd complain. Cry myself to sleep. Lora and Maurice would talk trash about you but then I'd defend you, I wouldn't most probably at first hit, but then I'd find my way back to you, you know. The weight of how you make me happy outweighs the hurt. Sadist. Masochism. I don't know. Child abuse? Maybe.

"Merante, truth be told, I love you less now. I've had the option, last night, to leave you the second I ran out that apartment. I would have taken the train straight to France but then I wanted us to work _this_ out, just not in Russia."

Pause.

"It's human nature. I was cheating on you, in some way. I didn't propose, I didn't give you any ring, just thin promises and fancy words that kept you around strings. It was cheating in purgatory. That level. It was horrible, I felt horrible on the way back to meet you. And when I saw you meet me. _Damn._ Beautiful. So beautiful. The kind of beautiful you could look at without thinking of anything else. The kind of beautiful you'd just want as yours."

"Michelle is beautiful."

"She was a different kind of beautiful, the kind when you dress up pretty. She was the kind who needed the wind to tell you she is beautiful."

"That's mean."

"I'm head over heels for you, Odette."

"We're not friends, yet, Merante."

I could feel his heart break, again.


	20. Chapter 20

Odette

It is on our fourth hour, hour since our talk, four hours since we left Russia, and four hours, still, of hurt and annoyance, and I don't know what other emotions are brewing inside of me.

Should I have left Russia?

Should I have just started a new life, a new career? Should I have just left with the painter?

 _No_. Maybe in a lifetime where I did loathe Merante. Maybe in a distant alternate universe where anger took over me, stubborn me, unforgiving me, and unreasonable me just stopped listening to the world, to Merante, to ballet and just… moved on, just created a new life. Maybe it would an escape route for the coward me.

But right now, emotionally-battered Odette, stayed.

Because that's what we've written all over the place. We stay.

Merante and Odette. _Merante and Odette._

"Since, we're all aboard the _truth train_ , and this is a good chance to talk—oh, and heads up if I am ever to ignore you when we arrive in France, I actually might—I some things to say."

 _This hour is mine and he better listen._ He looks at me.

"I'm really sad, Merante. And hurt. They may seem synonymous. _They are synonymous_. But the feelings are different. _It_ feels different. Sad because I cannot believe what has happened to us. Hurt because it did happen to us. It was so hard, Merante, it made me feel _inadequate_. Like I wasn't enough? Maybe I didn't show enough then, but when you came back, it felt different with us—with you, like we've actually grown up and these feelings – _oh God these feelings—_ it just crept inside and it was just there, waiting, and you were the trigger.

If you, upon arrival, would have proposed that day—I would have said yes.

If you wanted to show affection in all forms and sins—I would have, believe me.

Just the end of waiting, _God_ , I was so happy, Merante. It's like passing a test you've studied really hard for not because of pure luck.

Yes, there countless times, especially when I had to appear in special plays, _most especially_ my first solo performance, I had hoped, I prayed, that you would miraculously appear. But you didn't. I searched the crowd, I was looking for you, but you weren't there, all I found, at the end of the day, was your stupid letter written that you couldn't make it because of lack of fund due to reasons you did not explain. I didn't think of any reason, I was selfish. I thought you abandoned me right then and there, all the more when you were continuously absent from seeing what I loved doing most. I was so furious with you, Merante.

I wasn't okay. You'd think I'd be when since it was my first performance there could be the next because you believed that I had the talent to stay on stage for different generations to watch, but… no, Merante. No. The first was the most special because I wanted you, of all people, to be there. _IT WAS A HUGE STEP IN MY CAREER!_ It took a while before I let it slide. And then the next and then the next followed by letters saying you were sorry. But… maybe you weren't _really_ sorry because you were preoccupied seeing someone else's legs."

He flinched. And I cared a little.

"I'm sorry for throwing these awful, blunt remarks. These just come out because of rage. I never hated you so much, Merante. This might go back to normal. It may. Or not. I could head back to Russia upon arrival at France because I'm just about done with you."

"Are you?" _Crack, his heart._ "Going back? Is this what this travel is for? To talk about us, just working this out even if our endings are different?"

"I don't know, Merante. You tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He's raising his voice and a few passengers sneak glances at us. "Did you just want closure and then _done?_ "

"Maybe we've been over ever since, and cupid kicked us again until we were back to our senses."

" _Cupid_? Are you even hearing yourself right now?"

"Did _you_ hear yourself then when you started inserting your cane in a different stage?"

Silence.

"I thought so. See, Merante? We could be just lying to ourselves thinking that it would always be you and I in the end because we don't have a choice, or we do have choices but _we_ are our best shot."

 _Should I have left Russia?_

 _Should I have just started a new life, a new career?_

 _Should I have just left with the painter?_

 _Why did you stay, Odette? Because Merante is the better option? Or because he is the most familiar option?_

"My love."

"Don't call me that." This time, I'm already crying and Merante stays silent.

* * *

Clocking in on the fifth hour, this train ride is taking forever. I feel like I've been on this journey for three days. I'm tired. I'm done crying. I'm hungry. I know there are other things to talk about with Merante but it's just cutting me some slack at the moment.

Merante. Well, he's still there, flipping through a book he's read.

Did Michelle give him that book?

What else has Michelle given him asides _herself_?

"How far have you and Michelle gone?"

"This topic is making me uneasy, I don't want to argue."

"We're not arguing. We're settling."

"Yeah, and it means with you leaving."

"I don't think it's your job to tell me whether I should leave or not, the same with you not telling me about your affair with Michelle."

Silence.

"What was your question?"

"How far have you and Michelle gone?"

"Home run."

I _almost_ wanted to laugh—sarcastically— but angry me is still the queen of all emotions right now. He must have taken a hint that his joke may not be as amusing as he thought.

"Sorry. Bad joke. I don't understand what you mean."

"Did you get her pregnant?"

"No."

"How would I know if you're lying?"

"Do you expect me to lie in the situation we are in?"

" _Hell_ , I didn't expect you to lie to me even before."

"I wasn't lying. I was keeping it a secret."

" _That's your main excuse? Not all the sappy crap you mentioned a while ago? Keeping it a secret?_! You are unbelievable, Merante. I—"

"I'm sorry."

Because that's the only appropriate thing to say. He should be hanged. Executed. If the world were to accept _sorry_ from the crimes committed, it would be chaos. He _knows_ that what he just said was stupid. _It was stupid, Merante. Very stupid._ I thought I was furious before, now I'm almost as done with him.

"Truth. She didn't get pregnant. We were strict with the calendar method. It was almost always exact. Do you really want it in detail?"

"Not the sex, Merante, _jeez_."

"Sorry. What else do you have in mind?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that question because I could start insulting you. You have to be more specific."

"Questions, Odette. Do you have questions?"

"No. Maybe later."

I stand up and he almost throws into a fit.

"Calm down, I'm just going to wash up."

His shoulders relax and he nods.

* * *

I almost want to just stay here, in the restroom, for the next 30 hours.

But I know that is not happening.

Maybe when I head back, I'll sleep. _No, impossible. You can't sleep for 30 hours straight._

I'll deck in a different coach. _No, right, not allowed._

Stay in the café? _Hmm, it is an option but I'm not hungry yet._

I step out of the restroom. _The only option_. And then a crazy thought hits me and the feeling needs to be confronted.

He startles just as I sit down in front of him, face flushed.

"Yes?"

"Do you know how you drive me across the wall? In any occasion, anything, especially when I need you to be there and then you don't. You don't show up. You don't appear out of thin air. I don't see you in my room during that time. I. don't. S _ee you in when I stepped out fromthatgoddamnbathroom._ " I may have said the last four words in a rush.

Silence.

"You wanted me to be in front of the bathroom when you're finished?"

Now, I sounded so childish and stupid.

"Forget it, it was just a thought that crossed my mind. From all the waiting I guess. It drove me mad."

He studies me, and I know Merante, he'd do it. The next time I'd head to the restroom, he'd be there when I need him to be. Because he's like that. A pleaser. If you'd ask him to jump 10 stories to prove how much he cares for you, the idiot just might do it.

* * *

"Do you want me to be there?"

I had tea delivered, because apparently you can do that in trains. I lower the cup.

"You know. After you're done with the restroom."

"No."

I drink my tea and I _almost_ wanted to curse him… and then say yes. But, instead, I drink my tea.

* * *

This time, I had cookies delivered and a whole tray of pastries, because apparently you can do that in trains. I offer some to Merante which he takes politely. You could have offered him animal carcass to eat and he still would because Merante is like that.

And then, I order lunch, Merante says he doesn't want to eat because _he is not up for it_.

Okay.

And more tea.

And then I order wine.

Merante wants to protest but he's back at the book he's read during that ride to Russia.

Now, I need to head to the restroom.

And I do.

Because of that delicious wine I'm wishing Merante would kiss me. I want this fight to be over, and it will be, but there will be no forgetting. He's done it once. He could do it again, and I don't care if his brain then was half developed than it is today or whether he's more emotionally stable than before, what's done is done. He messed up.

I messed up afterwards.

It's there.

Written somewhere. In some book.

At the long-term memory section of the brain.

Remembered.

Because of that delicious wine, I'm half sober, half asleep. Still sober. Still functioning fine. I unlock the door, like a natural because I am half sober and half asleep. The floor is still straight. Not moving, asides the train, because it's obviously going to move—okay I'm talking nonstop. _Stop. Stop._

"Are you okay?" He asks when I return.

"Yeah, very."

Still sad. Still hurt but I'm okay. _These words. I don't say. Odette, you could be a pleaser too. A different kind. The_ Kind _kind_. The kind that'll make everyone love you.

I just remember lying on the couch and Merante looking at me before I fall asleep at 5 in the afternoon.


End file.
